Skullgirls: Box-Office Bomb
by Essay King of VC
Summary: The Renoir Royalty has been dethroned, and the Crimson Scourge comfortably takes the seat as Queen. The Medici have been destroyed, those of the ASG Labs have been terminated, and even 'Annie: Girl of the Stars' has been taken down. But in the wake of her tyrannical march throughout the Canopy Kingdom, lay those who will rise, and take back what was rightfully theirs.
1. Salting the Wounds

**Hello, guys, and welcome to a new fanfiction written by yours truly~! Oh wait, you don't know me…? Then meh. Who cares about this stranger, anyway?**

 **I got into Skullgirls two weeks back when it became free for one day (24 hours). I downloaded and installed it, and immediately got interested in its lore and mythos, as well as its characters. They are all so unique, with their own playstyle. The combat is fast-paced and- oh wait, this isn't a review? Oh, sorry 'bout that. Well, other than the fact that the game quickly expired (I only played it for two hours… Got other stuff to do, y'know?), I DID not buy it. I've already wasted 178 ringgit (I'm from Malaysia) on Monster Hunter 4U, so my mom told me not to buy anything else. SO yeah, I'm writing a fanfic about something I only have 2 hours of experience on. Achievement get, I guess?**

 **Researching about every aspect of this game was really fun, and that's what I love about writing fanfics like this. They're fun, and when you post your first chapter, it's really scary to see if people like the passion you put in the text.**

 **This fanfiction is a continuation of Eliza's ending, and... yeah, that's all the 'premise' you're gonna get. I hope you enjoy it. Rate and review, pl0x. Harsh criticism is welcomed, because it at least makes me try to improve my writing.**

* * *

Big Band found himself running through the night streets.

Well, if a large trench coat could strut with small feet, it would be Big Band at this moment.

Something had gone wrong. Lab 8 just didn't exist anymore. It was gone, scientists and all. Ileum, Leduc, Hive. They were all dead. And so was Dr. Avian.

Because of the new ruler of the Canopy Kingdom.

The Skullgirl had failed to subdue _her._

Even the Medici were nothing to _that monster_.

Stopping his two feet in the middle of a dark, stench-filled alleyway, he turned his head, and inevitably his torso, behind for a quick peek.

"Patricia, come on!" he cried quietly, allowing the bio-mechanical Anti-Skullgirl weapon to pass him with fleeting feet like a spinning ball- one of the perks of being so engrossed with cartoons, while being paired with mechanical body parts.

The sounds of heavy marching took his attention away from the running girl. The rays of artificial light began to illuminate the opening between two buildings, and he, with hesitation nonexistent, followed his partner's decision to delve deeper into the darkness of night.

The two panted through the darkness of New Meridian's ominous corridors, trudging through garbage, climbing up the separating walls of wooden fences, shutting up dogs, and knocking down dumpsters, stirring up said dogs along with the residence of said City. The pursuers were unwavinv in their search and pursuit, causing Big Band to wonder to himself, gravely, how they were still following him and the slowly tiring girl in front of him. But that thought was quickly swept away from his mind.

They needed to get out of here.

Or else hell would descend upon them.

"W-woodwind…" Peacock moaned, with a robotic static in her once-human voice, as she slowed down to a jog, lolling her tongue out high enough for her lower jaw's sharp metallic teeth to not be able to reach the soft, still living tastebuds- or maybe that was also an artificial part of her?- "This is tiring me out..."

Big Band grunted melancholically as he watched her weaken from exhaustion. Before long, she stopped to a halt, and he had no choice but to pick her expectantly light body up on her arms. If she was at tip-top condition, she would have ran even further than him, no matter how much stamina he had in him.

But that was when 'Annie: Girl Of the Stars' was cancelled.

He understood why Peacock would lose all her enthusiastic spirit when her favorite show was pulled off the air for other shows she dubbed as 'pieces of sh*ts'. But why did it cancel? Was it losing popularity? Big Band, or as he was more formally known as: Ben Birdland, had gone to investigate this, and found that the show was still a major hit amongst the Canopy citizens, even after the advent of Beowulf, the once-renown wrestler whom wrestled and killed a drugged Grendel (Ben took the time to investigate his miracle), in the show. It would have be much later before he discovered that it had been _her_ plan all along to capture the two, or more accurately, destroy Peacock herself; and the cancellation was all but a guise to demoralize the little girl for an easy apprehension.

The ordeal had left the young girl in despair, and for three nights- the show was cancelled three days ago- she stayed sleepless, writing frantic letters to bring the show back on. He knew this because he once watched her do this for a night.

She wrote a total of 500 letters.

And now that their home was destroyed, he would have expected Peacock, whom now panted and wheezed on his shoulder, to be even more devastated. Their whole 'family', killed by the choice of one who had no rights to the throne.

 _We must live on..._ He thought to himself as he made a turn into the Dagonian-populated seaside, while narrowly missing the searchlights casting into the shadowing alleyways and streets.

As they made their way to the flooded docks, Big Band began to stumble on the weak wooden boards and makeshift floors. The loud, looming creaks sent shivers throughout the resting Peacock, whom had been firmly holding on to her last string of consciousness.

"Stay with me..." he panted as he made his way to the pier. If there was a boat, then he was the first to jump into it and commandeer it.

He also hoped that the Chess Kingdom would at the least welcome them into their land.

"Damn it..."

There was only one boat docked, but it was too small for both of them; heck, it was too small for his own humongous body. He was about to turn around when the sound of heavy boots stomped on the soggy wood planks.

"Hands in the air, Lab rat."

Birdland kept silent, letting the waves sound the moonlit tides. He took one deep breath, and turned his head around.

"Albus..." Ben growled with growing aggression at the jackal person with the cops behind him.

"We met?" Albums asked, curious as to why he knew his name.

"Newspaper."

"Oh, yeah, I've been in a couple of articles. Even made it on one of the headlines. How'd I forget?"

"Tell your men to leave, and your mistress to stop pursuing us."

"Why should I? She's already issued orders to destroy all the labs, including anyone affiliated with them, without question or hesitation. Basically, I can do whatever I want with you Lab rats." At that moment, he turned his dog eyes to the girl on the trench-coat-wearing individual's shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, my 'mistress', as you call her, is interested in that little girl o'er there. Mind if I take _it_ off your tired shoulders?"

"You," Ben leered as he bent slightly into a threatening stance, "Wouldn't dare."

"Heheh," Albus chuckled, adjusting his collar, "Then I just have to take it by force."

The multitude of dark clothed men began to take aim with their black weapons of mass destruction. A familiar helicopter flew omnipotently above the scene, shining its blinding beams at the pier.

 _The Black Egrets too?_

Ben began to fear for the worst.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Oh how that saying fitted him so perfectly now. How he was trapped between corrupt cops and the dictator's trusted henchmen, and a boat he could not fit in...

Wait, _he_?

Before the eager fingers could push down on the imposing trigger, Big Band created a loud jumbled mess of noise that disorientated the riflemen and Albus himself, due to his sensitive ears. During these seconds of moment's unraveling, he quickly took a gentle hold on Peacock, before hastily placing her on the boat bobbing with the amplifying waves.

"Wait," Peacock said in a sickly voice, "Where're ya goin'? Don't leave me, Big guy..."

"Patricia, I don't have any time to talk-"

"FIRE!" Albus's cry resonated through the seaside district, but there was no gunfire, surprisingly. From what Ben heard, there was a small skirmish behind him, involving the barking of numerous scoldings and the dangerous threat of killing their Princess, Parasoul. Then, when all settled, Albus cried out 'Fire' once again, but this time, a bullet grazed his trench coat. It flicked off the smooth fabric, leaving a mark on his metallic body. The sudden gunfire has shocked Peacock back to- metaphorically- life, and her six eyes were darting all over the place in confusion. But Ben still held on as the bullets bounced off his body of brass instruments.

"Don't come back for me, okay? I know you want revenge, but you aren't doing yourself any good if you're going to get killed in the process?"

"N-no, that's as okay as 'em shows, which ain't okay!" Peacock cried as she began to tear up through her empty eye sockets, "Come on, I-I'll clobber 'em to next Hanukkah-"

A finger on her lip silenced her for the very last time. Ben only stared at her pitifully, before saying, "I know thinking ain't your thing, Patricia, but right now is the time to grow up." A small robotic hand reached out from the shadows of his trench coat, holding an unseen object between its palms. Peacock watched, tears streaming down the dark holes on her face, as the hand unfolded rather quickly in front of her, procuring a small crystal.

"D-Doc's rock candy...?" she asked as she took it, her voice damp with a hoarse, subdued one he knew had been a hidden emotion from the deepest parts of her psyche. Ben sighed, before grunting as the firing increased in intensity, closing his eyes for a brief period. He then opened them again, only to see a pitiful Peacock stare at him with eyes that screamed, within the deepest shades of her skull's shadow, in agony:

'No, please, no'.

"I promise you, dying's not on my agenda. And so ain't your's. Avery'll take care of you..."

Placing an acoustic-filled hand on the derelict life-saver-of-a-boat, he blew a powerful blast of sound without speaking of any farewells, launching the boat far away from where he stood. But all he could hear was Peacock's scream in the loud blares, it's saddening tone shaking him in his core mentalities.

 _Rock candy?_ he thought to himself in the precious moments of dark premonitions. _Heh... Wait, they sto-?_

Suddenly, two arms tackled and grasped his body, then another, and another. A swarm of hands began to restrain him like chains clamping around arms and legs, but he fought back, thrashing and blowing brass punches at the adversaries that began to pile upon him like ants on a succulent insect, or football players upon one man and his winning ball. There were just so many, and to top it all off, Albus had brought it upon himself to punch Big Band in the face, causing his vision to blur and his focus to shatter. Before long, he was on the ground, with a humongous pile of many tens of strong men crushing him down.

Ben slipped into the insidious influence of exhaustion as he thrashed around with all the instrumental weapons in his body. But slowly, he gave in to the inevitable. He heard Albus's indistinct taunts, before receiving a devastating kick to the face that knocked the wind off his lungs. His eyes slowly began to close, but no matter his struggles, he knew his battle had been lost. The last thing he heard before he slipped into the realm of darkness was _her_ name.

"Eliza..."

At that moment, he collapsed like a cut sequoia under the silhouette of the laughing jackal, as if bowing down to the servant of the one who could change the Canopy Kingdom forever.

Today marks the start of the downfall of many.

* * *

 **Forgot to tell you this, but the first three chapters can be considered as an introduction to the story. If you think this chapter revealed little of anything, then I did my job. Hope you enjoyed it. Next update's in the coming week, with no specified day *:P***


	2. Wulfs don't Whimper

**Thank you guys for reviewing my fanfic (even though I liken them to comments, because reviews are a lot more complex than that), I really appreciate it. Now this is a new 'Introductory' chapter, and, seeing how long this is, it's gonna reveal a bit more than the last chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it, and review if you wish. Harsh criticism of any mistakes is welcomed.**

* * *

At the same time, Beowulf found himself rushing down familiar dark streets, passing below streetlights without any thought of directions, ignoring the clattering of The Hurting strapped behind his back. But why was he running around at such a night like this; a night where the star's gleam seemed to dim with a fearful retreat?

Because he knew Annie would be struck with dangerous luck.

His sweat trailed past him as he ran, heavy feet stomping on the concrete of Central Meridian. His chair seemed armed, ready to be taken out and used at the nick of time. His cape was adorned with an attitude to kill. Something was up, and he needed to get to Annie's house as fast as he could.

Taking one last turn, his eyes came to observe the little red brick house in the distance. It was very noticeable, seeing how the two other buildings by its side were giant skyscrapers, but her house was eerily dark. Maybe too dark for a girl who used powers of galactic, starry motif. Hesitating to rush into her house, the wrestler began to sneak quietly in the shadows- note that everyone could see him. He tiptoed closer to the house's little fence, before hopping over them- he broke the fence and fell- then approaching the house's little red door. But he stopped when he heard the door creak. Startled, he quickly crawled deeper into the shadows, escaping the eyes of the silhouette head poking out from the doorway.

Noticing the glimpse of an opportunity, he began to crawl, metaphorically on the tip of his fingers, towards the backyard. Reaching the back door, he entered into the humble abode with stealthy steps- The Hurting knocked over an antique vase- till he found himself in a quaint space he believed to be her living room. A rabbit doll was sitting stiffly on one of the couches, as if watching an advertisement. With absurdly long and stealthy steps, he quietly walked closer to the sofa, before slithering below the comfort object.

There was a loud gasp in the hallway outside after Beowulf had concealed himself, following with Annie entering the living room with a reddened, flustered face.

"Sagan, someone, or something knocked my mom's fudging vase on the ground! Did you see anyone do it?"

There was no answer, though; Sagan was not really able to talk, and her right eye, which seated itself comfortable in his mouth, did not transmit anything to her. Annie sighed with frustration, before grumbling quietly, "I'll clean it up later." She sat on her sofa and grabbed the bag of potato chips on the round wooden table. And there she sat for the second night of her unemployment, stuffing her face grumpily as she watched the advertisements for the new cartoon shows.

The ones that replaced her's.

"Argh," she groaned with a rage akin to one fired from his job- oh wait, that happened, "Is there anything good these days?"

"Nope, but this will be!"

As sudden as it can be, the sofa was lifted off the ground by the wrestler's strong arms, shocking the girl and letting the bag of snacks tumble down. Sagan only watched nonchalantly, as if part of the background, before sliding off the seat and landing on the deep-fried potatoes on the ground.

"Aroooooooo~!" he howled, "Surprise!"

What came next was a knock sound from above. He had held the sofa too high, and had knocked her skull on the low roof.

"BEOWULF!"

"Oh, sorry," he apologized light-heartedly as he set the sofa back to its place, taking a step back while at the same time barely missing the dust that trickled down the ceiling. He was met with a pout and a look of disappointment from his old co-worker.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. Before he could say anything, however, she again retaliated, "Were you the one who broke my fence and tipped my vase?"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that..." Beowulf replied sheepishly, before answering the other question given, "Well, I came cos' I thought of keeping you company or somethin'."

"Do you want me to call the cops or kill you?"

"Not that way," he replied with an embarrassed red on his face, "I thought you needed to take out the stress of having our tv show taken down."

"Okay," she hopped down her couch with one hand massaging her aching head, "I'm calling the cops."

"W-wait! I came cos' I thought you'd do something real bad, like suicide or something!"

"Well, it doesn't look like it's happening, right? Now go home."

Unable to bear with the chore of walking back home, he began to reason with her. "Treat it like a surprise birthday or something. A one-man party with me and your doll!"

"A party with you and Sagan?"

"Yeah! So can I stay a bit? " Beowulf gave his own variation of the puppy eyes: he grew all cocky, and donned a silly smirk that tried its hardest to impress the girl. Annie rolled her eyes, softly clenched her teeth and veered her face away as if in deep thought, before nodding hesitantly, her one remaining orb keeping an irritated resolve.

"What do you even have for this 'party'?" she asked with suspicion, "What's this party even about?"

"Well..." Beowulf began to scratch the back of his neck, invoking more disappointment in the little girl, "I don't think this can be called a 'party', I just thought you needed some fun time to, you know, get the thought of being jobless off of ya."

She sighed once again.

"Wanna watch tv?"

"Ah, sure, I guess?"

And so the two sat on the small sofa. Annie and Sagan, that is. Out of disappointment, Beowulf was punished to not sit on the soft sofa, and he, tired from running a few districts down, did not hesitate to sit on his durable folding chair as comfort for his rump. Time passes rather slowly for Beowulf as he watched the shows she watched. There was no sense of tension or awkwardness in the atmosphere, although he knew she was somewhat lost due to his surprise appearance, seeing how the chips were unswept and the fence and vase were left unkempt.

There was much that happened in the past week: him coming out of retirement to beat the Skullgirl, a sudden conspiracy of his old wrestling enemy Grendel being drugged during the fight, and suddenly a monster by the name of Double impersonating a nun in a church where the Skullgirl once resided, and even his old business friend, whom he speculated to be dead. Truth be told, he had been ready to take revenge on the lies and beat the Skullgirl at the same time, but when he reached there, the only thing left of the church was a wreck. There a gaping hole on the ground, from to the basement leading to the roof, and no Skullgirl, much to his disappointment. He could remember his initial arrival, battling an angry ninja nurse of sorts, before entering the recently-destroyed church. And then there was that strange, weakened monstrosity: Double's true form, so to speak, that tried to kill him out of rage- maybe due to the church's destruction? Who knows- and the sudden appearance of other people that joined the brawl to take the monster down was also a surprising event that occured during the fight. It was safe to say that the monster was dead, and that it was the last he saw of those other fighters, along the last autographs he would ever sign.

Also, Annie was actually older than what she looked, which was astonishing, to say the least.

Now in the modern world, after the supposed disappearance of the Medici Family and the changes in the Canopy Kingdom royalty, Beowulf had expected major changes. There were headlines for her in the papers, but none of them revealed to him, or anyone, her face. Because of this, he had no insight of how he, or she, ruled- he had a tendency to judge people by appearances. But the cancellation of his and Annie's new collab show had come as an abrupt punch to the stomach. To summarize all that, the two had just went through a life changing journey, but were now as well-off as torn paychecks sitting inside a dumpster.

For now, the thought of unemployment and a hobo life was quickly shelved for another, more dire time, because Beowulf had come upon interesting subjects on the LED screen. While he watched the Discovery Channel with interest, picking up chips from the floor- which silently disgusted the girl- Annie was shuffling on her seat, as if uncomfortable for some reason. He noticed the behavior, and inquired of it. She only raised an open hand- a sign saying stop- in response before placing it on her chinny chin chin, delving into some depth of thought. Of what, Beowulf had not the slightest idea.

"Um, thinkin' about what to or something?" he asked again.

"Well," she looked up to him, "It's not like there's any harm done telling you this."

"Huh? You've got something to tell me? Is this one of your 'a long time ago' stuff, like the Skull Heart?"

"Well, yeah, it's about-"

A sudden intermission on the television screen cut her off, and visibly surprised her. A man in a large hall amongst a humongous crowd of rich men and women- evident by their style of awful glamour and fashion- was speaking all too enthusiastically of the revealing of their new 'Queen'.

"Oh, so it's a lady~?" Beowulf said, giving a whistle at the end. Annie's reply was to move closer to slap him hard on the back, which rewarded her with a grunt and a seated stumble that that amused her.

"I've already fought a Queen in the past, so this isn't sitting well for me..."

"Queen Nancy, right?" he asked cautiously as he adjusted his seating, massaging his back in the progress. Annie nodded solemnly in reply with no form of apology to his back pains, before eyeing on the television program.

"Nearly died trying to subdue her..."

Beowulf, having moved past the ache, made a soft 'yeah' before he lowered his massaging hand and laid his eyes on the screen, watching every movement, listening to every chatter and cheer, and tasting every salt speck on the slice of fried tuber he feasted. It was rare for him to be so analytical of a sight. Maybe it was the mood that affected his thoughts and focus? Or was it the effort of ignoring Sagan and the forever-seeing blind eye in his mouth that had made him so conscious of so many things?

And then, the grand reveal happened.

Clapping resonated from the speakers as the many hundreds of the higher-class were enthralled by their new Queen unveiling herself from behind the red curtain. Her waltz rhymed with the applause, and her confident smile called to the many politicians in the audience for a government of strong, just rule. She swept the floor not only with the sense of authority, but also her beauty. Her slender hands and fingers. Her beautiful body that seized every man's gaze. Her luscious hair that gleamed in the spotlight. She was more like a supermodel than a queen.

One who had supposedly become Queen instead of the Renoir Family.

It was big news when a new ruler had ascended the throne; much more was the controversy surrounding it: of how this person was related to the sudden disappearance of Medici Mafia activity, to how he- or as it was known now, she- obtained the rights to the throne from the King and the Princesses Parasoul and Umbrella. How could this beauty do all that? Beowulf was sorely surprised by this, but was secretly excited to see this new Queen.

In other news, there was also that incident involving a few districts of New Meridian being destroyed by some skirmish involving a giant titan of blood and the Skullgirl herself- a battle Beowulf wished, in his dreams, he was there to see. Now why didn't anyone bat an eye on that?

"Wait..." Beowulf muttered, straightening himself as a realization dawned in him that nearly blowing his mind into bits by the sudden discovery, "Isn't that Eliza from Bastet's Den?"

Annie perked up when she heard him, and asked, "Who?"

Beowulf was visibly surprised when he heard her confusion of Eliza's identity, so he quickly explained with a sense of disbelief, "She's the most famous diva of New Meridian! Beautiful voice, great performances, hot body, everything else that makes a lady good! She's been in the showbiz for nearly twenty years, AND she had a charity blood bank! I LOVE her albums, too! It's impossible for you not to know her!"

"Hmm... Sounds familiar, but I've never went to Bastet's Den. Maybe that's why."

"Seriously? Wow, you must be living under a rock..."

"Don't wolves live in caves?" she replied with a playful intention.

"Hey, caves are comfy if you've got the right stuff, 'kay..."

"You lived in a cave?"

"Once, for a horror flick... Ever watched 'Wolf from the Meridian'? Yeah, the crew didn't have a studio. I had to live in a cave for a day, cos' the freaking cam guy kept missing my good sides!"

She couldn't help but lightly scoff. The thought of the unemployment predicament quickly dissipated from both of their minds as they continued their small conversation in the midst of televised cheers and at the beginning of their new Queen's speech.

"Welcome, citizens of the Canopy Kingdom." There were a few claps from every man and woman in the crowd. "My name is Eliza, and as your new Queen, I declare the arrival of a new age, an era of rule that will drive the Canopy Kingdom to greater heights!" Her speech rallied the crowd together with her, and their cheers intensified.

"Heh, she's nearly as good as me when it comes to the crowd," said Beowulf. Annie rolled her eyes sarcastically in reply.

"With the Black Egret's loyalty on me, I will assure this Kingdom peace from the Medici, and from any dangers the world will throw at us. Today shall be a day more glorious than any other days. A day of celebration, and a day of feast of the many in attendance today." There was a short pause, for the crowd to calm down, before she continued, "I understand your concerns of the Renoir Family. As a matter of fact, they have one last message for their loyal subjects," turning to the bird-man at the corner, she commanded, "Open the broadcast, Horace."

There was a distant 'yes, madam', before a large projector slide unfolded behind her, ending with a short bounce. The projector began to... well, project what it had been tasked to do. No one could believe that anything of any concern was unfolding, so the many aristocrats who waited for the machine to work only chuckled amongst themselves of trivial entertainment. Even Beowulf and Annie had begun to relax upon the sofa.

The sight of a dungeon cell made every watcher's heart leap violently. The camera began to inch to one side, before turning with full force, wobbling what could be seen and revealing a chained Parasoul and Umbrella hanging on their hands with their legs sprawled on the ground.

"What...?" Beowulf asked with his mouth full with a chip, confused as to if what he was seeing was real or a sick joke. Annie's one eye began to widen till one could say they were metaphorically 'as large as plates'. Sagan's one eye blinked.

Parasoul, who was visibly sleeping with an agonizing expression, moaned, "A... Annie... Save me..."

Beowulf and Annie turned to each other with an awkward but lost expression.

The embarrassing sleeping habit got the awake Umbrella to don a salty pout. She whispered spitefully to her sister to wake up, and when she did, there was noticeable strains of exhaustion all over her body. It took her some time, and a few questions aimed at her sister, for her to notice the camera in front of her. In a pathetic state, she turned to the people watching, and muttered direly, "Everyone...

"Run..."

The live coverage fizzled into static. Everyone, including the two watching the screen, froze. Eliza turned to her audience and, with a sadistic smile, said:

"Now wasn't that nice?"

The whole place burst into a panicked uproar. The man operating the camera turned to the nearest exit along with nearly every man and woman. There was chaos caught on tape, but then, as the camera came close to the door, a rival swarm of Black Egret soldiers appeared and blocked the exit, with two in the front holding large plastic tower shields. The many panicking audience began to beat on them but they never flinched or faltered in their step, but one, whom donned no mask at the moment, was in tears, whimpering, 'If I don't do this, she'll die', before going into a repeated cycle of apologies.

Then, almost instantaneously, the aristocratic class of the society began to crumple, as if being weaned from blood, and fell to the ground like dried leaves. A rather loud scream- presumably the camera man's- echoed into a pitiful gasp of air. The camera began to descend, but not before being picked up by an unseen hand. It was carried over the hall, extraordinarily above the scene, conveniently giving a bird-eye view of the horrifying death and bodies. Slowly, it floated down and turned to Eliza's face.

"Welcome to a new rule," she said, before, gruesomely, her face began to split in half, revealing the skull below. The disgusting sounds of flesh tearing into two gave Annie a gag reflex. The horrific visage beneath the flesh was but a fuel for potent nightmares. It had the likeness of a cat, and large canines. The eyes in the darkness of the hollow dome blinked with the skull's sinister grin.

"Welcome to the Rule of Neferu...!"

Then, the screen began to flood with red from the sides, like blood seeping between the lenses. The broadcast then suddenly stopped, and again static filled the screen.

"..."

"..."

Beowulf's mouth hung open in the splendor of horror, letting a small bit of a mushed potato chip fall to his legs with a splat. Annie's one eye widened to cartoonish levels, with absurdly small pupils to match. Her eyes were so wide that it seemingly creased her lower eyelid, but really that was just the dread that piled into her eye bags.

Beowulf broke the silence with a gulp, and said in the ominous atmosphere, "Okay, so she just killed a few hundred people; b-big deal... And her name's Neferu...? Also, her skeleton's ugly as heck..."

He looked over to the girl beside her, only to notice her shaking hands and twitching eyes.

"Neferu..." she whispered with a tone of distraught, lowering her head to stare at the ground. It was as if she was in a trance at this moment. She seemed to recognize her from the 'Neferu' name?

"We need to get out of here, Beowulf."

The statement confused him.

"What?" he inquired as she rose from her seat, "Out of the Kingdom or something?"

"Yes. Didn't you see how powerful she was?"

"Pfft," he blew air out of his closed lips, "The only thing she did was kill a few hundred people. The Wulf can take her down!"

"Tsk," she clicked her tongue, "Remember the red blood at the church?"

"Uh," he began to remember, "Yeah. What about it?"

"Beowulf, from the broadcast, you've seen her manipulate blood," she explained, turning her gaze to him, "She was there before us. Eli- no, Neferu\- destroyed the church!"

"Wait, what's up with you and Eli- I mean, Neferu?"

The sounds of a couple of cars parking outside cut the two off their conversation. An unfamiliar gruff, yet muffled voice from outside commanded the two to come out with their hands in the air. Black Egrets were at her doorsteps.

"Uh," Beowulf began to speak as he was coaxed away from the windows by Annie, "Don't worry, the Wulf's gonna- oh crap, I see guns."

With a quick snatch of Sagan, the girl turned and began to sprint away, exclaiming to the wrestler, "MOVE!"

He subconsciously complied, but before he could move a single step, the window behind the television broke, throwing little shards and shrapnel to the ground, allowing a Black Egret soldier carrying a menacing gun ready on hand to crash the party. With quick, instinctive thinking, Beowulf grabbed the sofa beside him and, with the strength he accumulated in so many years, threw it at the intruder, pinning the soldier to the wall and causing him to slip into unconsciousness. But that did not stop the flood of soldiers from breaking in through the other windows around the house.

Beowulf hastily exited with the Hurting strapped back on his back, but found that he had lost sight of the girl of the stars and her doll parasite. He swiftly stumbled through the rooms, checking to see if she was in one of them, while avoiding bullets from the Black Egret soldiers. The sounds of metal balls colliding with his folding chair nearly gave him a heart attack every time he heard the mind-rattling sounds and felt the bullet's sound barrier-breaking forces.

"Annie?!" he called anxiously before entering the last door, only to be given a reply when the very door he had gotten ready to burst in opened, to reveal a hand that pulled him inside. He was now on the ground, with the door closing with a bang behind his back and the sound of a lock following it. Panting and placing a hand on his beating heart, he wondered if he was unscathed from head to feet. Of course, The Hurting had many a dents, but he could fix that with a few well-aimed hammer taps.

"You okay, Beowulf?" asked Annie as she pulled him off the floor. He shook himself back to his senses, before replying with a yes, only to flinch and jump away from the door as the sounds of a twisting door knob echoed around their ears. The entity behind the door began to bang on the wooden barrier. The wrestler gulped. He could not fight with guns. And the door was but a temporary defense. It would not be long before they shot the knob unusable and barge in to arrest them.

"They..." spoke Annie, who had detached from the wrestler and begun rummaging through drawers, "Are after me. Neferu knows about me. I think she sees me as a threat." It was then that Beowulf noticed that he was in her room.

"But how? You met her before or something?"

"Beowulf, she's older than me, so she knows of my affiliation with the Skullgirl." She veered her attention to the contents of one of her drawers as she spoke, pulling out a sword at the last word.

"Wait, you're saying she's an old hag or somethin'?"

She grumbled quietly at the insult, that seemed to involuntarily targeted her as well, but she only replied audibly with a sigh and continued her preparations with a collected demeanor, placing her blade between her fanny pack's strap and her body. "I have no time to explain. We need to get out of here first before getting out of the Kingdom."

"How? We can't just run, we'll-"

As he spoke, Annie walked to Sagan, patted his back, and took a step back. Beowulf had a word snagged on his throat when Sagan suddenly turned into what looked like a miniature scooter. Its ears became long like handles, but there was only enough space for one person's two feet on the bunny doll's body.

A hard slam on the door frightened him out of his trance. With his astonishment gone, his eyes took note of the lack of a seat he could sit on. There seemed to be only a small foothold big enough for Annie's feet, and nothing else. How were they going to escape on that? With the Sagan-scooter, it became a mandatory task to leave everyone behind, with only the driver being able to travel and escape.

"H-hey," he stammered, "What about me?!"

"Take this." A rope landed on his hands. He stared, dumbfounded, at the fibrous coils, before returning his gaze to the girl. "You know what to do, right?" she added.

Beowulf had the urge to shake his head, really badly. He wanted to convey to her that he himself was in the dark with, what he presumed to be, her plan. Where did she even get the rope? He gulped and gathered his thoughts as she tied the rope on Sagan's little fluffy tail, still finding it hard to understand the supposed use of the utility item; but before he could ask her if its purpose, a tremor shook the ground and silenced their tensed throats. The sound of creaking floorboards signaled the arrival of something or maybe even someone massive in gait. There was quite a chatter outside, before it all went silent. The two froze in place, unsure whether or not they were gone.

 _BLAM!_

The door blasted into splinters and smoke. Beowulf held his breath and raised his arms, protecting his torso from blocks of wood and his lungs from smoky gunpowder. But the figure in front of him made him seem paltry and meagre in comparison. A towering foe came through the door, crashing through the walls with his extraordinarily huge shoulders. His little legs crushed the boards with his weight. There was a cannon on his left arm that was so heavy it silently strained it, constantly being admonished by his muscles to silence the strains and show how weightless it was to enemies and allies alike. His breathing was hoarse with his menacing mask on his face.

Beowulf turned pale when he looked up to face the barrel of the cannon, and gulped. His grip on the rope tightened as the adrenaline went through his body, till his fist was turning purple. Seeing the impending disaster, Annie 'revved' Sagan-scooter's ears, before screaming for the Parasite to move. Turning to the closest window, the Parasite jumped and crashed through the glass, with the rope whipping up and down its tail. Beowulf was ripped off the ground as he was pulled to the same broken window, seconds before the giant Black Egret's cannon fired, kicking up more charred splinters and dust.

Beowulf crashed back down to Earth after he exited the house. As he regained his senses, he found himself on his back, with The Hurting kicking up sparks on the tar road. His arms were raised high from his head, still grasping on the rope. The bright streetlights above him blinded his eyes for a second at a time. Turning his head down, he saw the slowly-shrinking house he had found comfort in mere moments before being burned in a blaze of embers. Anguish began to churn in his stomach, but he kept silent of its sickening presence.

Annie was silent as she kept her eyes to the road. She thought if she had been a thousand years younger, she would have cried for the loss of her house, as much as she would have over the loss of her mother in the Skull Heart's influence. There was no need to use more time explaining. They needed to hide from the dangers of the new Ruler's iron grasp and hundred eyes.

But what was to become of the Kingdom, now?

Sagan-scooter began to slow down after some time. Its pit-patting foot rhythm slowed to a crawl as the two entertainers, with mouths sealed, entered a dark alleyway. Upon reaching the end of the narrow pass, Annie stepped down from Sagan-scooter's platform, and Beowulf began to tend to Hurting's condition. Miraculously, the seat suffered minor scratches and burns, but that was second to all that was swimming around his brain at the moment. Sagan quickly turned back into a doll, before being carried around on the ear by the girl. The anxious droplets of sweat streaming down Annie's face, like rain in a painting, was quickly wiped away by her free hand's backside.

"We need to keep going," she muttered while facing away from Beowulf, taking his attention away from his chair, "We need to get out of the Canopy Kingdom."

"Annie, can you just calm down?"

"No, Beowulf," she shook her head with disappointment and agitation, "You don't freaking understand. She was there..."

"Where?"

"When my mom became the Skullgirl." Beowulf cringed somewhat at the new topic, and saw it best to keep silent while she talked. "Well, she wasn't really there at first, but the history books told of her existence. Of the skeletal Parasite Sekhmet, and of her tyrannical rule on the world. They said she was dead. Killed by a rebellion, but it seems now that she wasn't. But she looked so different. She wasn't like what the text described her as..." Regaining a part of her collective thought, she breathed deeply, before turning to him, with a frown of pained, burning anger. "I don't know what to do now, Beowulf... I can't beat her; she's too strong for you and me. She will drain us of every drop of blood before anything else can happen..."

Beowulf kept silent. There was, notably, an over-saturation of closed lips and unspoken words, but what was the punishments for that? Beowulf understood her pains. Was there anything else to go back to? What of the Black Egrets, who might be looking for them right this moment? What of their journey that was to come? He groaned as he found himself unable to find an answer. He was used to quick, easy speeches, but now he was lost. And so was the City. So was the Kingdom. Lost like a lone wolf without a pack...

 _Wait a second... Eureka!_

"Haha!" Unexpectedly, the wrestler gave a haughty laugh, and puffed out his chest in a declaration of confidence. He straightened in his posture, which stretched himself taller, and brushed back his hair. What was this unwonted amount of confidence the wrestler dished out? Had he a plan in mind?

"Come on, Annie, a wolf doesn't hunt alone. We just need more people, that's all! A pack of 'Wulves' to beat down that blood bender!"

"But is it really that simple?!" she hiss in retaliation, "Who's gonna help us at a time like this?"

"What about those guys that helped us kill that thing back at the Church of the Trinity?" Noticing a change of tone in her one eye, he continued, "We can just go look for them!"

"Beo, they never told us anything about themselves. They left before we could ask anything." True, the 'Warriors' that aided them in the fight with that monstrosity left as quickly as they arrived; but Beowulf had many ways around this predicament.

"Don't worry, I just need to get on to centre stage! That's what the Wulf's all about! It'd be like running for President!"

"If we could do that, what stage can we get?" she asked, crossing her arms. Her eyes began to leer. Beowulf gulped: she was starting to lose interest.

"Don't worry, it'll happen!"

"Beowulf, this isn't some fudging trivial, everyday thing! This is the takeover of a whole Kingdom! By a tyrant a few thousand years old! Why can't you understand that?"

"Annie, this is your home! Your turf!" His voice rose and incorporated a thicker air of confidence and invigoration, "We just need to bring out the Alpha to tell them to stop sitting and start growling and gnashing like the real wolves they are!"

"These are civilians! Scared people who don't know where to go, what to do! Are you sure it'd be easy to even rally them-" a foreign scream cut in through her speech. Then, there were more than just screams. There were cries for help, angered retaliations, and muffled commands.

Peeking out of the alleyway, the two eyed a faraway commotion. Black Egrets were pouring into buildings, as if searching for-

"They're looking for us. We've got a price on our heads," said Annie, with a tone of graveness mixed in her voice.

They watched as the soldiers drove out the homely residence from their houses and sleep, with no hesitation to using force to pull the innocent from their homes. There were some that fought back in the streets, but they were quickly silenced with a well-aimed ball of violence from the soldier being affected by the weak assault. These heavily-clad men were fervid with their movement around the streets, that one must begin to think if they were just loyal to Eliza and saw it fit to please her; but in the wake of so much movement and disorder, Beowulf saw it as desperation. He remembered the weeping Black Egret soldier who blocked the exit during the broadcast, and immediately realized the problems. There was a belligerent force that pushed their loyalty upon the tyrannical queen- for what other explanation could suffice, other than this one? The Egrets were fiercely loyal to Parasoul, so there was no reason for them to bow down and lick Eliza's foot. Was there some form of threat, or blackmail upon them? His brain was not capacious enough to find an answer, unfortunately, so he halted the thought and continued watching.

Suddenly, Annie pushed him to the wall, narrowly avoiding the sight of one rushing Black Egret. Seeing this as a signal of danger, the two moved further into the alleyway, camouflaging themselves as black figures in the dark.

"Well," Annie whispered under her breath, "Considering that they're breaking in everyone's home, and that Eliza already established herself as a monster, maybe the people do have something against her... Your plan might work, if you take in the possibility that everyone would hate her way of rule..."

"Don't worry," said Beowulf, with an arrogant tone, "Pack or no pack, we'll one day take her down."

"WHO'S THERE," cried the soldier that once went past them, who had picked up their voices from the alleyway. The two cringed, and Annie cupped Beowulf's mouth shut as the Egret began to cautiously walk between the building walls. Fortunately, he made the grave mistake to look behind a lone dumpster at the far end, receiving a slam in the face, that cracked his visor and knocked out his consciousness. Unfortunately- however- Beowulf made the grave mistake to not use his fist.

"BEOWULF!" Annie hissed, while her fingers blocked her ears from the deafening metallic onomatopoeia, "They're going to hear you!"

"Oh, sorry."

"Did somebody say Beowulf!" cried a faraway soldier, "I want his autograph, and him in chains, NOW!"

Their lips froze for a few precious seconds, before Beowulf had the audacity to break the silence and say:

" **They** heard **you** **,** not **me**." He was rewarded with a back-side of her sword on the head.

The many soldiers outside began to surround the entrance to the dark abode. But before any could enter, the few who were just meters away from where the walls parted were blasted away by stars and dark-blue slashes. Annie then followed suit, crashing through the crowd with Sagan-scooter in her control. Beowulf had, sadly, little time to discuss of his own mode of transport, and had to tie the rope- a great improvement from tirelessly holding it- on to his folding chair. He was now surfing the streets with his back on the makeshift surfboard.

During all this, none of the Black Egrets fired. Most of the soldiers were attending to those who were affected by the barrages, and others were stunned by the abrupt parting of the Egret 'Sea'. It was only after they travelled a considerable distance away did they begin to rethink their actions. They turned, guns resting confidently on their shoulders, before firing. But they had gone too far for any gun to be accurate enough to reliably hit their mark, and all their gunpowder was wasted on the road or the walls.

There was no clear path for the two to know where to go; no route could be seen in the sandstorm that clouded their choices. Should they declare themselves self-exiles of the Kingdom, or were they to stay until time had forgotten them, where they will someday emerge with a new presence plastered over their brittle, rotting ones? The questions were endless for the two. Were they really going to follow Beowulf's plan: to rally those who were willing to fight for a cause, or could they follow Annie, and abandon their homes, their sense of belonging, to a foreign land away from this place's influence? Both considered their choices to be superior- it is human to be selfish of their own personal preferences- but both found themselves torn in half by what to do. Because when driving with the moonlit night watching them with omnipotence, the mind opens to the calmness, no matter the past calamities, and questions the blind cannot see arise.

Questions that Time's ticking clock cannot answer.

* * *

 **Okay, funny story. Remember the 'She's been in the showbiz for nearly twenty years,' part? Well, I write on my phone, and auto-correct can be a total douche sometimes. I accidentally spelled 'showbiz' wrongly while I was writing that sentence, but I never noticed. When I reread the paragraph, it said, 'She's been in the SHOEBOX for nearly twenty years'. That killed me. Worse was that I was at church at the time, so when I snickered, everyone could hear me. It was embarrassing, but how could you not laugh at the image of a mini Eliza in a shoebox, holding a sigh saying 'Will sing for shelter'. Other than that, see you next week for another chapter. Rate and review.**


	3. Sign in Blood

**I have this uncontrollable urge to rewrite this chapter. Well, the end part of it. It just didn't make that much sense to me. So, to comply to the strangely out-of-place ending to this chapter, I'll release a new one next week that'll probably cover some awkward plot holes. Hope you enjoy this chapter, but if the ending puts you off, I understand. Rate and review, pl0x. Harsh criticism to errors and mistakes are welcomed.**

* * *

Savory blood was hard to find.

Obese men tantalized the tastebud with a punch of strong but viscous slime. Thinning men are like leaking barrels. Once your senses detect the first light of shocking discovery, there is little left that can be drunk. Their blood flows like smooth wine down ones sophisticated throat, but with underwhelming flavors. And Eliza was a truly sophisticated nitpicker.

What is wrong with nitpicking, anyway? Does it not polish the blemish one sees clearly on a screen? Or not smoothen that grammatical catastrophe in every work of fiction or non? Oh the human race is strange indeed. Triviality triumphs over importance. The perfect taste is more important than quantity.

And on the topic of human morals, even simple things like personal image become a discussion after one individual in many engage in charitable actions, like donating to 'charity'; especially her Blood Bank. Heh, now that she was thinking of her foolish contributors, she noted how they were hilarious beyond belief- had their parents not teach them to keep their own body to themselves?- but they were important stepping stones to her position now- which, in the present time, was behind stage curtains.

Today's feast was a truly divine course of nitpicks, on a silver platter. All of these aristocratic men, with their sunken eyes, and women, with their excessive powdering and suppressed excitements and alibis for attending, were a containment of red liquid that would fatten any vampire's day. But Eliza was no vampire (they do not even exist anyway, especially one so appropriately named Ebony), she was now the distinguished ruler of the Canopy Kingdom. None would oppose her now- seeing how they were all dead just moments ago...

But what was the next step to becoming Queen? Surely, there was no more but taking the crown and imprisoning the future kings and queens. Horace, her bird Dagonian servant for so long, had already read aloud every sentence in the archives detailing the ascension to the throne, so it was common sense to believe this was all.

Eliza, who was satisfied with her meal, could only smile in triumph as she sat comfortably at the back of the stage, watching through the curtains as hesitant Black Egrets carried and dragged the drained carcasses away. She brushed the drapes of her dress further back, which showed a little more skin than what was required at the moment, and gave a sigh that rippled her heart with content. She was now Queen again, and the bursts of bliss only served to widen the smug grin that grew insidiously on her beautiful face.

"So how was the visit to famed superstar, Annie?" Eliza asked the bird man on the phone, her voice suave like a singer but foxy and dangerous like a snake.

"Ma'am, they have just entered when I called, so I have no information regarding their success."

"Then what of the ASG Lab extermination?"

It was not easy flinging papers around, looking for secrets hidden behind royalty. The moment she seized the Kingdom and the loyalty of the Black Egrets, her henchmen dug in to the treasure trove of hidden goodies, from Queen Nancy's last words before she became a Skullgirl, to atrocities done by the Renoir family during the war. It was there, in the Renoir archives, where Albus found information of the Labs; how they created weapons fit to destroy the Skullgirl.

The one reason they existed was the one reason she wanted them gone.

If they had weapons that rivaled that of the Skullgirl's strength, then that equalled to having weapons that could easily destroy her. They were a threat to her power, and with one command, she allowed the Black Egrets to swoop down and destroy any personal and weaponry. This was all two hours ago. It must be done by now, she thought.

"Milady, we have confirmation from those in the field that all eight labs have been cleared. Seven of them were abandoned, but we have captured research notes. Shall we destroy them?" he asked.

"No, they might be of use to me." By 'use', she meant a rule of a wider scale.

"Albus has confirmed that Lab 8 IS occupied, but extermination has ended, just awhile ago."

"No survivors? Sad, their blood must have been worth a fortune."

"He has captured one of the experiments. A 'cyborg' of sorts. From his description, he may be 'beneficial' for your reign and performance."

"Performance? Interesting..." She placed a hand on her chin and raised her eyes's attention to the roof, as if she were in some depth of thought.

"One..." Horace hesitated, "Has escaped extermination and capture..."

"What?" she snapped her gaze and voice harshly back to him, making him flinch. "Don't tell me it was the brat from the reports."

"I-it was the child..."

"How dare that mutt let her escape," Eliza growled, "She was built just to destroy the Skullgirl; there is no telling if she has the weaponry to match me. I can't believe he let her get away. I even took the liberty to cancel the show she loved just so he could have an easier time. Horace, call every Black Egret out there to be on the search for her."

"Yes, Ma'am Eliza."

Horace, with phone on hand, then departed through the back door, preparing a quieter environment-one that suited his taste- for further orders. Eliza rolled her eyes, sighing, before crossing her legs as she sat. Waiting for her car was never this insightful. Now she only needed to sit back and let everyone else do the work. She never felt this excited being ruler again. Not needing to do anything, and letting others suffer, entertained the Crimson Scourge, to the point where she truly believed her life was safe behind all these trained men and women.

"Huh?" Her eyes widened with mild surprise as a force tilted her head down. Feeling it with her hand, she sensed the familiar handle of a knife. Amused of the very fact that someone had tried to kill her with such an outdated method, she plucked the weapon out of her head with ease before molding her blood to fill up the wound, as if erasing its existence. She placed her hands in front of her sight, and expectantly examined the knife. A recognizable emblem took her attention, and she promptly laughed.

That was all she did.

Just laugh. Cackle with diabolical amusement.

"The Cirque De Cartes?" she said, trying suppressing the snickers, "I thought I killed all of you?" As she spoke, she turned her head to the shadowed corner behind her. There was a figure within the dark, watching, with dreadful surprise, at the unbelievable fact that the assassination had failed. Eliza's mouth twisted into a devilish smile, and the figure saw this as a signal to retreat.

But retreat was far from here, as the figure's hand was impaled to the wall, by a throwing knife; the knife that tried to kill the Crimson Scourge had returned with deadly consequences.

"Who," Eliza began to speak as she waltzed to the silhouette, "Is this~?" She stopped halfway in her march to it, and took a good look at the dimness of her surroundings. Dissatisfied by the awful lighting, she began to manipulate the blood that crafted her body, and turn them into tendril-like hands, revealing the bones below her flesh in the process. Extending into the shadows, they grasped the familiar feeling of arms and feet, and pulled the mystery person into weak backstage lights.

"Oh, Beatrix of the Clowns," spoke Eliza with an tone of venomous interest. The performer only groaned and spat on her shoes in reply. Eliza fell silent as she watched the mouth-froth slid down her shoes, examining its trail as it flowed like a waterfall down her black high-heels.

"You..." Beatrix began, before pausing to regain her breath, "Bit-!"

A slap collided with her cheeks- punishment for making a fool out of yours truly. A white tooth bounced away from the violence, but the noises- the smacks, grunts and agonizing breaths resonated throughout the place, taking the attention of Egrets off the bodies and pulling their eyes and ears to the closed curtains that conveniently censored what most would believe to not be something a game such as Skullgirls would contain. It was not long before the sounds disappeared completely, but, even after a culminating amount of curiosity flowed into everyone, no soldier dared to try and peek in-between the closed curtains, lest they suffered the same, unseen- but clearly fatal- fate.

Beatrix was painfully exhausted, and she found it difficult to stay conscious after the barrage that knocked her teeth out and made her bleed stopped. Every whack of the hand was more powerful than the other. Every grunt fueled Eliza's desire to cause pain. Not to say she was sadistic.

She was utterly furious.

"Thank you for giving me a new idea for a law: 'Do not even try to disobey the Queen'." Eliza briefly indulged on the fear that flooded into her bruised eyes, before raising her hand in the air, and muttering, oh so softly for the performer's ears:

"And the punishment? Death."

Beatrix gave a yelp as Eliza's skeletal fingers plunged into the left side of her belly, siphoning red blood out like a hose begging water to be fired out of its nozzle. She cringed, and twitched in agony, clenching her teeth to numb the pain. Her one good hand balled into a fist as Eliza moved closer to her face, wishing, begging, to punch her in her 'perfect' face.

"You should have left." Eliza then paused, dwelling in the suspense as she also plunged in a state that looked as if she was 'tasting' her blood. As the pause escalated to a adequate point, she continued, "I would have spared you then."

"W-witch..." Beatrix choked out her lines, her face slowly drying, "You l-left out the... last card..."

"Oh, her? What was her name again... Cerebro?" She then chuckled, "What a joke. You should think up of better comebacks, clown~." Laying her eyes on the dark fabric draping on her shoulders, she visibly brightened with interest, and beamed, "Oh, what a stunning cape you have. Mind if I have it after you say bye-bye?"

Beatrix's lips began to brittle into a callous-like texture. She was unable to breath as her lungs shriveled and her throat dried- a frightening conclusion to her life. "I hope," her dry voice coughed in the musical orchestra of cracking skin, "You rot... In hell..."

Eliza tucked her head back to examine the dying performer. Her other hand rose high above the side of her head as she said sarcastically, "Me, dear? Well, you already look rotten~" She then swiped at Beatrix's parched neck.

The sounds of cracking bones took the Black Egrets, most of whom had began to ignore the commotion behind the curtains, by surprise. The familiar sounds of something dropping on the wooden boards, and the distinguishably eerie rolling spooked any that listened. The first guard to dismiss it, albeit with difficulty, cleared his throat loudly before carrying on with his duties. The others tentatively followed suit.

Scrapping the impaled body off her sharp fingernails, she turned away from the sight, only to be greeted with the back door opening and Horace entering. She could see her limousine outside, which pleased her, but, as she was about to move, Horace nervously called for her attention.

"What is it, Horace?" she asked with a calm face.

"Oh my, are you alright, your Highness?" he replied, curious of the dead, headless body behind her.

"Of course. In fact, that was really enjoyable; I haven't sucked someone till they were bones for a thousand years, now. As for the body, let Albus take care of it. I'm sure he'd want to see a decapitated corpse after so many years. So what of Albus and the search team?"

"They have been mobilized, but, ignoring that, we have... interesting reports from the field."

"Yes?"

"We have located a secret Lab, that the Royal Archives seem to have omitted."

Eliza froze, before asking, with an unpleasant glare, "And what of this 'Lab'."

"Well..."

* * *

What Horace said next was the reason why Eliza was now sitting on her limousine that rocketed down the streets leading to the outskirts of New Meridian. Horace, who was driving, gave little attention to any who journeyed through the city in their own mobile metal box that night, crashing through road junctions, being impervious to the traffic and the traffic-lights that glowed a commanding red. It was not long before they reached the barbed gateway to a large factory; albeit it was more accurate to say just 'entrance ', seeing how the gates were nonexistent now that Horace had crashed through them.

"Over there, Queen Eliza," Horace's face gave clear indication of the direction she needed to turn to. Quickly shifting to the left window, she watched as Black Egrets soldiers were preparing to storm the factory.

Or, more accurately, the fabled Lab 0.

"They don't seem to be having problems, Horace..." said Eliza.

"Strange, they reported that they were having difficulties capturing this place..."

Then a soldier flew out of the factory window and landed on a nearby jeep.

The two fell silent.

"Stop the car."

"Yes, your Highness."

Exiting without her usual grace, she marched with haste to the soldiers, agitated of their uselessness. She placed a hand on one of them, before forcefully turning his body to her. "What is happening inside?" she hissed.

"Ah, Q-Queen E-Eliza! W-well, there seems to be resistance inside. We've sent three squads already, but they've failed to subdue them."

She clicked her tongue in frustration, mouthed the word 'useless', before blindly declaring, "Let me in. I will show you the power of your new Queen."

Before long, and without preparations, Eliza entered. She now walked inside the belly of the iron producer, waltzing calmly, observantly, below the shadows casted by great, wise machinery of a past long gone. Every step she made kicked up aged dust, while every breath disturbed those in the air, forming little spiral-like waves sweeping delicately through the musty, rust-scented air.

This was Lab 0? A beat-up factory worth of scrapping? No, the metal was too old for there to be any use.

As she examined her narrow surroundings, she heard a disturbance from the roof. The single clink of metal took her attention to the ventilation pipes high on the roof, almost twenty meters above her. But then another clank made her turn towards the dark corner between two generator-like machines. The darkness blanketed what dangers were inside, but that did not stop her curiosity from taking control. She took the time to cautiously take a few stealthy steps closer, but, at the fourth click of her heels, two lights shone its beam at her eyes, causing her to flinch. The eye then began to 'roll' on what surface it was attached on, disappearing from view before appearing once again as a slit from the top of what seemed to be a head-sized sphere, before elongating into what it was before, repeating this a few more times. She took two steps back, and got ready as the sphere rolled into the moonlight.

It was like nothing she had ever seen. It looked like a robot head, with cat-like ears, and a speaker for a mouth. Its eyes were lit with a yellow light that shone on her face. And where was the body?

"Beep, boop, meow," spoke the mechanic head before its eyes blared the color red and a thruster activated on its neck, shooting it through Eliza's torso. The head continued to propel itself until it struck a wall and fell down, rolling away into the darkness once again with its eye lights closed.

"Is that all?" Eliza growled, her eyes trailing to the dent on the wall where the robotic head had crashed on as her blood body repaired the huge hole in her torso, "What a pushover..."

But as she was watching where the head had once been, the once-missing robot body entered the light, before lunging with a boosted punch, which Eliza quickly dodged with a sidestep. She then began to avoid the flurry of punches and steel claws, slowly cornering herself between it and factory machinery.

"Feisty, aren't you?" she said as she blocked a punch with a wall of blood. Behind this wall of dense , her curved-tip staff slowly unconcealed from the massive store of blood she had just consumed during her speech. After the headless robot stopped to process its next moves, she swung her cane, smacking its side and sending it flying into some debris. She took one long breath, and waited to see if that was all. Eliza, now unsatisfied with how short of a brawl it had been, instinctively flipped her hair to the side, before taunting, "Is that all?"

That was when another enemy appeared.

With split second reactions, Eliza swung her staff behind her, blocking an attack from what she saw was a deformed 'creature'. The strange 'helicopter blade'- like attachment on its back spun alive before whipping at the Crimson Scourge, who jumped away with perfect timing. But as she was airborne, a small rocket head-butted her back, causing her to lose balance. Its source? The robot, of course, who had recovered with its head now fit on its neck. The three then collapsed into an all-out brawl.

Eliza found herself surprised by the tag-team's synergy. Had these two, whom she now presumed to be products of Lab 0, trained to fight such an enemy like her- they **were** ASG material, right? Or was it the robot cat person's expert programming that allowed it to time its moves in tandem with that... creature's? It was a clear fact that these two were more powerful than the two who made their first mistakes by trying to prevail over her strength. The 'creature' was swift, with powerful lunges and the ability to make sharp spikes out of, from what she knew at the moment, nothing. And the helicopter blade was something she took caution with. But most strange was how it moved; with every swing of its clawed hands and with every stomp and bend, it seemed as if every bone and joint in every limb snapped, indicated with the sickening crack of white cartilage. Every twitch added to the challenger's unnatural movement- but after hearing the cracking of bones so many times, it still moved with ferocity, bearing little to no pain with every bone-crushing turn.

The robot, on the other hand, had an arsenal that could blow up anything in the battlefield. The constant 'beep, boop, meow' was also starting to get to her. Even if she loved cats, this cat person lookalike was too annoying to love. But it did have an uncanny similarity to that blood fountain she had back at her soon-to-be-old home. What struck her the most was the expertise needed to program such a potent killing machine. Its mechanical strength, its fast, inhuman reaction times and it's versatile array of weaponry and utilities made it a beast

Grunting as the fish-shaped rockets grazed her, she jumped away in time to avoid most of the damage from the robot cat's flying arsenal, willingly allowing what had been behind her to be destroyed instead. The battle had carried on for longer than she had expected, and Eliza found it her task to finish what she had stumbled upon, starting with the deformed human. She became aware of the other attacker's pattern of assault deep into the fight, and, with perfect prediction, she deflected a sneak attack from behind, immobilizing its hands with her blood. The two landed some distance away, and as she travelled down with it caught below her, she screamed with a playful ferocity, "Stop moving, you monster!" The creature hissed and gave a bloody scream as it thrashed around furiously in its red restraints, before yelping as Eliza plunged her hungering fingers into its belly.

"Ohoho," she laughed haughtily, "Your blood's one-of-a-kind! How del-"

She paused, froze, at the abnormal sensation prickling her hand.

"Eh?" Her eyes widened in astonishment at the many barbs and studs penetrating through her arm. The pain flushed through her like a slam from a tidal wave, and reflexes had jerked her hand away. But as she did so, it was macerated; torn into noodle-like cuts of hanging flesh. But her movement had revealed to her a malformed cacti of dark-red needles and bleeding spikes that extended out of the creature's wound, and she finally realized where those strange bodily thorns had materialized from.

"Blood...?" she stared astounded, before, slowly, excitement overcame her, "Now this is interesting!"

Blood rushed in spirals to her destroyed hand, weaving and reforming into what it had once been, and, with graceful predicting, she swung her left arm behind while twirling her staff, parrying the alloy robot head rocketing towards her. Then she did the same to the other attacker at her right, uppercutting its chin with golden wings formed by her blood. And as she did this, she donned a smile, one so terrifying that it could rival the Devil's, on her face. The sensation of exhilaration empowered her, and she slowly, artfully, with the grace of power and the fuel of authoritative possibilities in her thought, began to overcome them.

"GRAAAAHHHHH!" the deformed human roared after being hit countless times, before swiftly spidering to the Crimson Scourge as she fought the robot, pouncing and wrapping its arms around her.

"Wha-?! You-!" was all she could say before hundreds of blood barbs shot out of its arms, like a pin cushion, and pierced her body.

"Agh..." Eliza gurgled, as the feline robot landed and began to charge a pink orb in front of her, speaking, with a robotic pause and slang, of an imminent laser. She seemed like ice, almost as if dead, and unable to task the muscles within her face to make any other comprehendible expression other than one of immense pain.

But, alas, victory came nowhere close for the two as a shadow loomed over the robot. A large hand, incomprehensible of its size and dark crimson shade, grew from her shoulders. Eliza's normal arm slowly disintegrated into blood as the new giant protrusion replaced its spot as the dominant limb. Eliza's open lips curled into a deceiving grin.

"Always eat before you enter the battlefield."

Immediately after her lips strummed her dangerous quote, she slammed the humongous blood arm on the ground, destroying the robot; fortunately for it, the head had quickly rocketed away from harm, saving it from turning into dented scraps of ferrous plating and copper and silver meshes of wiring. The head hastily rolled away in retreat, leaving one attacker left for the Scourge.

The creature jumped away, sensing a threat so dangerous it blew a cold wind up its spine. But Eliza turned and clamped down with her maw of five fingers.

"You won't make needles when you're dead, huh?" she cackled as she slammed it to the ground with humongous weight. "Hmm," she paused, and gazed, not at its face, but at the crude cover masking its eyes, mouth or any other appendages, "Maybe I'll take a peek before you go..." Slowly, her small arm reached curiously closer and closer to the mask, unaware of the futile thrashing and wheezes from the creature that spat out saliva from behind the silent mask. Five inches, three, then at last, her middle, longest finger touched the smooth material, then her other four also. And slowly, her grip tightened and squeezed on the mask, and her muscles tensed. She then-

"Stop."

The advent of a new voice made Eliza rigid, and the overflow of interest and curiosity made her turn her head to the side where she heard the noise.

"You must be our New Queen, it seems," said the heavily-clothed stranger emerging from the shadow of a door leading into a stairwell. In the distance, she saw that he had a metal helmet of sorts, and she could see clearly the lively brain in a dome that replaced his upper head, where the scalp should have been.

Eliza immediately relaxed as she watched him stop some distance away. He seemed to have little keenness in fighting, and this made her relieved- tedious battling can quickly tire the mind with boredom. She submitted to the non-violent approach by taking her huge hand off the creature, and standing proper and prim in front of him. The titanic hand was then reabsorbed into her, before her original arm reemerged and rested its hand on her hips.

"And you are?"

It was immediately after she said this that the creature regained its composure and lunged again. "Down, you idiot," the stranger growled, and the creature immediately toppled, and limply rested on the floor, twitching with resistance as its fingers lightly clawed the mask.

"I apologize for Subject O-84's behavior," he said, before slightly bowing; although Eliza saw little respect or any addition to his apology from so small as one pathetic 'bending-of-the-body'. "I shall see to it that she is punished."

"Introductions, dear." Eliza pressed, impatiently snapping her fingers together.

The stranger narrowed his eyes into a glare, before replying, "I am Brain Drain, the Head of Lab 0. And what are your intentions for trying to enter?"

Eliza began to brighten with interest. This man seemed to care little of anything else other than his Lab. She grew cunning with the many suggestions her mind presented to her.

"I'm here for negotiations," she replied.

"Your soldiers say differently."

"They're just idiots," she gave a wave of the hand, "Now tell me-"

"THERE SHE IS!" a familiar voice cried. Eliza turned to catch a glimpse of Black Egrets storming into the factory from the entrance, with Horace rushing towards her. Soldiers tailed him, and, when they came closer, half of them aimed their weapons on the shivering experiment on the floor, while the other half aimed their weapons at Brain Drain. Horace swiftly rushed in front of her and got on a stance, saying to Brain Drain, "How dare you try and harm the Queen!" But all he got for his protective duties was a light knock on the head with Eliza's cane.

"Horace," she spoke with the air of a maternal figure, "I specifically told you to wait outside."

"But I was worried, your Highness. You have been in here for nearly fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?" she raised an eyebrow, "So that's why the fight was starting to drag..."

Quickly shooing away the soldiers suppressing the creature- a sort of favorable curtsy to the idle doctor- she turned her attention back to him, and said calmly, "Now tell me- No, how about this? Give me a tour of the lab, and we will start negotiations?"

Brain Drain hesitated silently. His eye observed the soldiers and their weapons, then veered to his failure, Painwheel, cradling on the floor. His genius seemed to hold little suggestions for how to cope with this situation, so he hesitated some more. Eliza's stare began to intensify to a sharp glare, pressuring him; poking him; stabbing him to answer. He saw her patience fading, but he was adept in such pressure. He breathed deeply, and answered:

"There is no need for such actions."

"What?" she was taken aback by his answers. She snarled with irritation, clenched her fist, till their hue sunk to a pallid color, and began yelling at him, "Then I'll destroy this lab and all its inhabitants, you insolent-"

"If you are interested in my robotics, then I shall see to your request, and even fulfill it."

She shut her lips, her eyes widening as she suppressed her body down to a relaxed state. "I like where this is going," she answered eagerly.

"Good."

If Brain Drain could, he would smile with savory success. "But why would you be interested in my machines?"

"Plan B, I suppose?" The soldiers around her began to look at each other, confused of the true meaning of her words.

"And is this... 'Plan B' something you find uncomfortable to speak of in front of these fools?"

Eliza's eyes began to shine attentively at his words. She immediately replied with a shaking head, hoping that this was an opportunity to enter, and maybe marvel at what laid below the concrete.

"Hmm," Brain Drain closed his one eye and meditated for a few seconds. But it was not him who opened his sight, it was the robot's rolling head, that struck his feet with a light tap of the forehead. He gave no glance; no word to it even after it began complaining of its ability to feel pain. He only stared back into Eliza's orbs, contemplating the slowly growing impatience within her. He did not know what this Plan B was, but he was sure it involved his robotics. But he could hear it in her voice, and subconsciously see it in her movement. There was something else she wanted, something she saw fit to discuss in an evening colloquy elsewhere. What it was, he saw no need to delve deeper into. As long as he kept the Lab moving, there was no need to act so belligerent to her, more so as to camouflage his intentions.

"I take back what I said. Come with me, I have much to show, and hear from you."

* * *

"Albus?" Eliza called for the driver's attention as she sat cozily on the leather seats of her black limo, that zoomed quietly below the concrete jungle that blocked the dawning sun from their eyes.

"Y-yes, boss?" the jackal, who had regrouped with the others when his mistress reemerged from the Lab, replied with an anxious tone. He knew what was coming up, and he was not excited of the topic.

"You let the Anti-Skullgirl brat escape?"

Albus gulped, while Horace looked out of the window in an attempt to avoid any wrath Eliza would emit.

"Hmm... That seems to be the least of my worries now. Horace, have you told them of my request?"

"Yes," the falcon answered as a stripe of flashing orange passed by the car, "They are preparing to transport both of them to Lab 0 as we speak."

"Good..." she smiled, leaning to the window closest to her, "Soon, they will all be my slaves, and that parasite will finally get a brain, as well as her host."

"Uh, what happened when I was waiting outside?" asked Albus.

"Oh, nothing. Now go faster. I need a beauty sleep."

"For the performance tomorrow night, your Highness?" said Horace.

She gave a satisfactory moan before stretching her arms. Before she could lay them back down on the soft leather, the dim shadow of the Medici Tower came to loom over them like an all-seeing entity. Its brash neon signs allured all that read it, while it paraded its height with a casting darkness that boasted to those around of its supremacy. But the Medicis owned such a property no more. They were all dead, anyway.

"Hey, boss," the jackal said to his master, "Why do you even want this dump of a place? Ain't the castle the perfect place for a Queen like you?"

"Oh Albus, can't you see I want to look down on my subjects? Now open the door."

Albus complied to her orders, and quickly rushed out of the black car, curtesy of his task to open the door for Eliza. Horace then opened his door and waited beside her door for her to finally arrive at her new home. The jackal pulled the handle, then the door, letting his master's slender legs gleam below the rising dawn. Her staff tapped the clean concrete as her whole body revealed to those waiting for her outside her presence. The few Black Egrets that stood guard shuddered at her sudden entrance, before quickly saluting out of fear.

"Hmm, don't let anyone in, will you, boys?" They immediately replied with a frantic 'yes', before placing their hands down. She smiled triumphantly at her control over such a humongous army, before entering with Albus and Horace behind her. Above her, the chandelier glossed with a welcoming light. More Black Egrets came into her view, scuttling around like insects. Most were cleaning what was left of the mess the Medici had done, while others were quickly moving and rearranging objects to her liking. One individual was quickly transporting a large crate to the door. Behind him was another man transporting a crate of the same size. The latter, she stopped with a hand.

Knocking on the wood, then looking into the small circular opening on the side, she muttered, "How does it feel to be in a box...?" She was met with an empty gaze of spite.

"Black Dahlia?"

She chuckled when the crate began to shake, its inhabitant clearly agitated with the taunt. She then allowed the soldier to continue his route, and went on her way up the marble stairs, to the upper floor of the lobby where the elevator had been. But after she ascended one flight of steps, she turned around to indulge in the sights behind her. The little workers below her seemed so insignificant, like ants. On one corner was a rather feeble Egret, pushing around a hand forklift with an open crate, spilling from inside its contents: a robotic body in a suit, with a miniature Dagonian, dead and laying, out from the suit's one eye. On the other corner were more bodies being escorted outside by hand. One question came to mind: how long did it take to clean up an entire building full of Medici corpses? To think of it, she could scold, abuse and deride them all day and they would not challenge her rule. That thought made her grin.

When she eventually got closer to the elevator, she said to her eager servants, "See to it that everything is perfect when I wake up. I want the stage to be set for tomorrow, and the invitations handed out."

"Yes, your Highness."

"Don't worry, boss," said Albus, who proudly puffed his chest up, "If someone's running riot, we'll put 'em down, or drag 'em to your concert tomorrow. Everyone's coming, right?"

She nodded with a pleased expression, before entering the lift and ascending up to the floor of her choice. The elevator moved quickly in her presence, and a strong smell of cleaning fluid lingered in the air, remnants of a janitor wiping the foul portrait of Medici blood off the wall. The elevator door parted open for her, and the first thing she saw was a Black Egret waiting outside, rather frightened, with a cloak on hand.

"Oh," she gave a hearty gasp as she approached him, "A gift for me?"

"I-it's the cape of the assassin," he explained, "You have requested for it, yes?"

She raised one eyebrow foxily, before taking the black cloak off his hands. She placed it behind her back, before twirling around, letting the dark cloth cut through the air with grace unrivaled. She, of course, found much enjoyment in it, and kept it on her body, dismissing the Egret and entering the room of the late Lorenzo. The towering roof above her spoke of his love for the extravagant, and she could see it in the large bed, the humongous space where the bookcase had been and the giant window that stared at the mongrels below.

"Oh Lorenzo," she rolled her eyes as she spoke to herself, "Thanks for the room." She then walked to the bed. Before she could sit on it, she threw the cape on to the rim of the bed, then proceeded to entomb herself in a blood sarcophagus, before reemerging with a more comfortable sleepwear; a red satin gown and a scarlet sleeping mask. She then sat and patted her bed, while contemplating the bound, quiet head that struggled inside a glass cage, set on a mahogany cupboard beside the bed. "Goodnight, my pet." There was a growl from the head, then hisses and raging meows. Eliza then turned to the before-mentioned space, where a dust-free silhouette once stood, now replaced with a tall display case draped with cloth. "Hmm, how does it feel to be away from your user, Living Weapon?"

There was no reply. No tap, or knock to signify anything remotely close to an answer.

She sighed and laid herself on the soft, eiderdown pillow. Pulling the blanket over her, and the blinding covers over her eyes, she went fast asleep. Because why would one need to think of tomorrow, when everything was done? She had no concerns. She was Queen, and that was all that satisfied her.

But as she dwelled in the land of sleep and dreams, she failed to notice the glass on the ground next to the display case, and the opening door.

* * *

 **See, the end just feels awkward. I wanted to clarify more about Eliza's 'Plan B' in this chapter, and the part where she goes to the Medici Tower (or some other name... I need clarification if this is correct) was never supposed to happen. But it did, and it made the entire chapter feel weird as a whole. Also, seeing how a Ms. Fortune head is in this, along with a Living Weapon (I know you know who this is), where's the sleeping Squigly? Yeah, that's for later... See you next week! Or maybe next, next week, because my writing's slowing down. I need to study for stuff.**

 **Note: One reviewer pointed this out (yes, I reposted this chapter just to clean that certain part and to check on the issue), but Eliza HAS sucked someone of blood before: Cerebella. I understand this, and truthfully, I wrote that she 'has not sucked someone dry'- dry being to such an extent that the person becomes just bone and skin. So I rewrote the chapter, and clarified that part. Hope it makes more sense.**


	4. What Unfolds Beneath

**Hey, guys! New chapter up! This at the least explains a few things that I thought were unexplained in the last chapter. Hope you guys enjoy. Rate and review, pl0x. Harsh criticism is welcomed.**

* * *

They were like petals of cherry blossoms. These pieces of white cement, mortar and rainbow glass fell like rain, and the dreaded pitters and patters served only to irritate the ear. The strong stench of fermented blood hung in the air, so proud of its omnipotent presence. Below, an assortment of precious materials once standing tall as a Trinity. And above, a spiral of ruby scarabs shedding its secrets to all that watched, blocking the moonlight with its monstrous gait whilst dripping substances of morbid origins that even she dared not to dwell into.

Valentine was there. She watched as her little alliance with the Skullgirl disappeared in the instance; for what manner of creature could do so much on a church without the consent or punishment from the two entities? All she did was gawk at the destruction, and the almost blasé attitude of the red snake- it exited with little contemplation of all around it, and instead slithered serpentinely through building blocks, escaping her views. Her hands shook, her eyes dilated, and her face fell to that of anguish.

"Hey!" A voice, so discernible in her mind that she had no choice but let curiosity take over her, called to her.

"It's you! Whoa, what happened here?"

Beowulf.

Not him again.

"Go away," Valentine began to growl, the loss too great for her to comprehend. She needed no more than a prick to explode.

But her voice was too soft in the falling concrete and wooden supports, as Beowulf continued, "Hey, I'm here for the Skullgirl! We're you workin' for her or somethin'?!"

Right then, she did it. With a flick of her fingers- a twitch of her pumping muscles- she threw a scalpel at the fool's face.

"I SAID GO AWAY!"

Beowulf flinched, but stood his ground with the pompous air of persistence. And then, with Beowulf's wagging fingers, she lunged carnivorously, bone-saw in hand.

She missed, though, only able to slice the air near his ear. But she was blind. Blind by the confusion that overwhelmed her senses and her every movement. Her directions were in a scatter, and she knew little that could even calm the dread flooding her heart; a dread so figuratively comparable to sewer water that she believed it was possible to dissect herself to see what laid below the flesh. And what she was frightened to see was the darkness. The fear of fear itself. The night below nights darkness. And what fear she held today was of _**it**_ -the powerful being that waltzed into the church only to reappear and destroy it- and her losses. No, she was not fond of those that inhabited these white walls with her, but the sense of purpose had glossed within her with a comfortable sooth. And now it was gone.

She had nowhere else to go.

 _But maybe,_

 _just maybe,_

 _Beating the living hell out of this idiot can calm me down._

* * *

 _Five Days Later..._

Walls, stained with a flowing moss from ceiling to floor, were only part of what made the derelict and unkempt cell such an exclusive for criminals deemed worthy. The heavy dust in the air only served to give the face mask a purpose of its own; but, even with its uses explicitly known, she took little notice of it. And the noises- the whirring and humming of motors- they periodically vibrated the floors and her ears with a mundane beat.

Valentine breathed deeply as she laid on the hard bench. She was clothes in rather simple, white garments likened to an unwashed gown; her face mask was absent but her eye patch remained where it had always been, and she was waiting. Waiting for what, she had not the slightest. But of course, she was waiting for no second beating from a popularity-addicted wrestler. Maybe she was waiting for a time to leave, or maybe she was waiting for forgiveness from Brain Drain. Forgiveness for the Last Hope, and forgiveness for her betrayal.

During her few days of dwelling the dark underbelly of the lab of monstrous atrocities and technical supremacies, she questioned herself: What had gone wrong? What did she do to deserve such a fate? Maybe it was the choice of working for her enemy: the Skullgirl? Or was it the choice of working for Brain Drain? Or was it the choice of even working for the Labs themselves. When she became a nurse, she had no idea of her future. She never knew applying for the Labs would lead to her being chosen to be in the Last Hope. She never knew she had to experiment upon herself. She never knew these experiments would augment her body to become such a fighter. She acknowledged that the route she took was a fooling straight line when seen from afar, but became a tangle up-close. Oh how she grumbled of her past and her decisions in these pass few days of starvation and water depravation. Her body ached of the lacking nourishments, but she kept her straight face as she watched the wet roof. She counted the drips of water from outside the cell as entertainment, picturing them as bits of sand dropping one-by-one in an hourglass. And worst of all was that she could not drink them. They were just too far.

But only when the redundant counting subsided, and the water stopped flowing, did the cell door open. "Hmm?" she groaned confusingly, but gave a start when a cold, hard hand grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out, letting go halfway so that she could crash on the stained walls.

"What the- ARGH!" she screamed as the entity held her up by her ankle, dangling her only inches away from the floor. She was then taken through the hallways, watching the floors while thrashing and struggling against its grip. The next thing she saw was an opening door, and an operating table. Against her will, she was strapped on said table by leather straps, and a bright operating light was brought over her, temporarily blinding her with the vividness of a sun. A shadow, so menacing in the light, casted itself over the rays, and it spoke, almost robotically, to her:

"I would have forgiven you if you had brought the Heart to me," a hand stretched outward, before returning with a syringe in hand, "But your betrayal costed the lives of many. One in particular: My dear Christmas died because of you, and that is not something I would forgive so easily."

"No, you don't understand!" she screamed as she watched, sickeningly, her face of horror reflect itself upon the glass. Brain Drain held the syringe higher in the air, delightfully ready to plunge it into her body and cause her pain. She began to struggle in her leather straps, but she did little to even budge its tight clamps, and, with a sudden flush of agonizing pain, the syringe plunged into the side of her exposed neck.

But when it seemed like the doctor would inject the tranquilizer-like substance into her neck, the lab rocked with a tremendous force, trickling dust upon those in the room. Brain Drain fell silent, and lifted his metallic head up before turning to the door as if surveying the landscape around him. He then took the lethal apparatus out, before placing it on the table of instruments.

"Hmm, that does not sound like a Black Egret..."

Black Egret? Why would they be here?

Valentine quickly shelved her thoughts away, and watched as the doctor left the room with no hurry. She was panting as her beating heart began to slow.

Almost as fast as she was taken from her solitude, the lonely atmosphere set in once again, like when she was in the jail cell. But now was different. She was immobilized on a unkempt table, with little entertainment to keep her occupied till her death or perhaps reborn, and she was begin to feel the dreaded form of fear: terror. She laid her head down when she had calmed, but the thought of a death conducted by Brain Drain himself made her heart continue to leap light years. The individualistic instincts within her begged to her body to make its move to escape, but how was she to do anything when she was held down on all four points?

"Huh?" she said as a strange sting shocked her chest. A sensation likened to that of a blade poking flesh. Then she remembered the scalpel hidden between her breasts. It was unbelievable that she had forgotten of its existence for so long, and even after Brain Drain had disarmed her, this scalpel laid hidden from view, maybe attributing to the fact that it was hidden in her lady-bits.

Her mouth hastily began to reach her cleavage, and, with little time to lose, she caught the blade between her teeth, before spitting it, with inhuman accuracy, to her hand. But she stopped, and listened. Her heart relieved when she heard no noise- no presence- nearby, and she promptly twirled the instrument, till it pointed at the strap, and proceeded to cut it. Before long, one strap was cut, and she quickly placed the scalpel down to reach her other arm to unbuckle the strap. It took her some time to free the strap on her wrist, but, with the aid of another hand, she had unbuckled those on her feet with dexterous handicraft. At this point, the strap on her right leg was still locked in place, so she, taking the task slowly and with a calming heart, began to reach for it-

She abruptly paused. A disturbance, from outside, sent her body freezing. The unpleasant rhythm of metallic stomps, and the cackles of high heels reached her ears. She cringed, her eyes widened, and her body delayed in any movement. The shock quickly fueled her hasty fingers as she quickly began unbuckling the last remaining strap. But her hands began to slip and stumble in the pressure, and she cursed her hands for their ineptness in such a simple situation. The volume of the steps got louder as they got closer, and the sweat droplets began to trickle down her face, wetting her eyepatch and making little splashes as they slid off her face and plummeted to the ground.

Brain Drain made a 'hmm?' when he peeked in, eyes narrowing at the body strapped on the table. There was no difference from when he was here, so he kept quiet. But that was not why he kept himself silent as he observed his room, it was because of the uninvited 'guest' behind him; an intruder, who was also the new Queen of the Canopy Kingdom: Eliza. He hoped not to let her see such a sight of what he had been trying to do, so he gave a click with two fingers, and watched as the door closed. There were more matters to attend to before he can have his revenge.

The automated metal doors closed with an earth-shaking slam, and the room fell quiet. When all seemed safe, the sudden clatter of an air-vent cover echoed and rattled on the walls. The 'Valentine' on the table was not the real one, though; instead, it was a dummy made of wood- shown in how it 'poofed' into white smoke. The real Valentine, on the other hand, had been hiding above, on top of some old machinery, and was now traversing through the nearby vents; but she was not ready to find an exit. All she wanted now was her weapons and a way to take vengeance upon the doctor. But who was that other person with the high heels. And what of the Black Egrets that Brain Drain had mentioned prior?

All these questions swam around her mind as she continued her way, and after some time she found what she believed to be a storeroom. She quickly took out the cover, silently landed on the hard ground and then began searching for her weapons on top of the countless shelves, drawers and piles: her bonesaw, and the mementos of her fallen comrades. Through some unexplainable means, she stored all that she found away in some area. Valentine got ready to leave through the vent, but before she could leave, the door behind her opened with little warning, and she, in a state of subdued panic, hid behind a shelf, and she suddenly found herself eavesdropping a conversation between the evil doctor and... a very familiar voice?

"So what do you want here, Eliza?" the doctor's hollow voice asked.

"I don't want any of these. I want to know how you make robots like that one outside." A foxy, but rather persistent female voice, replied.

"Why is that?"

"Plan B, of course~"

"Yes, 'Plan B'..." Their voices then began to move away, and, guided by an irresistible urge, Valentine began to tail them.

"Can you mass-produce them?" the woman asked as they walked down rather familiar corridors.

"Yes, but I need more research. I have requested for the notes from the other labs, but they refused. If I can retrieve them myself, I would, but my two creations have been... Incompetent."

"Oh, dear. It's your lucky day." The two then turned a corner down rusty metal. Valentine's suspicion began to peak as she continued listening. She began to tense, as if afraid of what was next. Working for Brain Drain prior to all that happened, she knew his reasons for what he wanted. With all the research of each and every Lab, he could potentially create his own factory. True, he had a small-scale factory deep within his lab, but why stop at a 'small' one? That was what Brain Drain had said at one point.

"Do you mean to say that you have them?"

"A Queen demands everything, Drain. You're lucky I didn't want to destroy them. I can even give you the eight other labs, although they might be a bit... 'broken' here and there."

"Eight other labs...?" There was a distinct interest in his voice, "Yes, that is very adequate. What do you even want me to do with my machines?"

"Can you copy the abilities of others?"

"That is child's play. The stupid cat was easy, so how much trouble would this one be?"

"Then I have a really tasty subject for you."

They both stopped in front of a sealed door.

"One last question. Do you think you can 're-teach' someone's entire psyche?"

Drain paused, "Hmm… Maybe Christmas's notes speak of such a thing. Why?"

"Oh, I have two things in mind who need to be taught some discipline."

The doctor then keyed in the password to a door, and they proceeded into a bright room. The nurse watched in silence behind a turning, unsure of her own safety if she were to venture into such an area. Especially one she herself had never entered before, seeing how in the past the doctor had denied her access to such a place. But as she pondered, the door closed itself, and she found herself unable to enter after hearing the clicks of locks. She gulped at her prospects, and turned away from her old path to find a way out.

And so she traversed the bowels of the dark sewer-colored, neglects halls, listening and watching with a cautious glare at any that moved or dared try to catch her. Her shoes made no sound as she walked, and her breath was steady, with the clenching windpipe making little wheezing or irritation to the throat. She was perfectly quiet in her lengthy navigation, and after some time, she finally found an exit, one she had learned of before and had used time and time again for a quick exit. It was an old chimney pipe, now rusted with brown, that extended down into the Lab, connecting itself into a blast furnace- to be more precise, her exit. She slid into the soot-filled opening, and felt the choking ash run up her nose. Oh how she wished she took a face-mask before entering the burial of the incinerated. Cats, mice, apes, an assortment of insects and even humans came here for their cremations; the unfortunate test subjects, experimented to death most likely, never saw their last peek of the light of day. But if they were to have looked up, they would see the sliver of light shine above as the pipe emerged from the factory roof, and see what the land they once inhabited had to offer them before they, or their dead, grey bodies, burned into nothing but black dust. She desired little of the remains of the dead, so she quickly scaled to the top of the chimney, bouncing back and forth from the circling walls, shaking dust all around her down into the dark abyss. The rattling of metal echoed through the constricting walls, but, being a trained athlete, she found footing in the trembling derelict-of-a-chimney with ease. The smell of iron began to push back the soot, and, although it was more acceptable than the burnt dust that clogged the lungs, she still felt the irritation of a foreign scent. She quickened her pace, but then, midway, she slipped and plummeted a few meters down before stopping, saved only by her two shoeless feet. She felt a viscous warmth flow between her toes, that slowly moved down to the sole. The rust had cut her, and the pain was now striking her with great intensity. Valentine grunted, before continuing up.

After minutes of scaling such a badly-ventilated area, she emerged from below, and crawled out of the chimney covered in soot, with her feet splashed crimson. The moon once again loomed mercilessly above her as she flopped on the floor. Her breath was slow and deep, and her chest rose and descended in a calm rhythm. Then the sounds of movement took her attention, and she quickly scuttled to the edge of the roof, only to find a blanket of Black Egrets dwelling on the ground, with their black jeeps and motorcycles blending into the dark, creeping undergrowth behind them.

This was more difficult than she thought.

She gave a sigh of disappointment, before tearing two pieces of cloth from her gown, wrapping them around her feet like bandages. With unsteady step, she stood up- pain numbed her toes till she felt they had lost all movement- and moved to another side of the factory, before beginning her descent down to the earth below. With swift acrobatics, she landed on a nearby tree's dried arm, before hopping to another, then another, and another, until she landed on the ground. Quickly, she crouched behind one of the nearby jeeps, before moving between them, away from the eyes behind goggles visors. Valentine was moving through the crowd as silently as a mouse, and the exit out of the factory was so close to her that she drove back the urge to rush out of her darkness with arms wide, laughing so jocosely in the faces of those patrolling the perimeters for failing to spot her. True, that would have been very childish for a grown woman, but the exhilarating wave of emotions was so pleasing that she could not help but smile.

Then she paled, and her smile disappeared.

A Black Egret was now standing over her, his shadow so menacingly casting upon her blue hair and clothed body. But he failed to notice her, his attention focused on the phone that hovered close to his ears. She stumbled away to the other side of the jeep, and turned to the other direction; fortunately, no one else was there to see her panicked state, so she waited for the intruder to move away. She clenched her teeth and dug her nails into her fist; she was so close, yet so far from what she was trying to achieve. But as she grumbled and cursed, her ears picked up something it deemed interesting.

"Yes, sir," the Egret said to the person on the other side, "We are now awaiting Queen Eliza's emergence. She is currently inside the factory, negotiating with its inhabitants." He paused as he listened to the other person, then continued, "What'd you mean, Molly? Annie has escaped capture? Okay, we're sending backup immediately from this side... Wait, who's with her? Beowulf? As in: the wrestler?"

Now that piqued her curiosity. Hearing the sound of grinding gravel and the voice moving, she quickly hopped on the back of the jeep, hiding below a black sheet of cloth. Rather she hitchhike in a car or sneak out into the middle of nowhere- the lab was situated in the outskirts of town, and she found herself not willing to walk all the way to New Meridian.

She heard the Egret's calls to his allies, and the opening and shutting of a door. The jeep rocked at the force of the slam, before it trembled as its exhaust choked out a puff of black smoke. Then it trembled more as it moved on the uneven bits of rock. The sounds of multiple engines starting up entered Valentine's ears, and the _vroom_ of motorcycles blared into the cloudless night. The grinding noise cackled for some time, before all she heard was the constant sound of the moving wheels and whirring engine.

She was out. Finally, she was out. She closed her eyes in relief, accepting the blackness her eyes saw as her lids closed, but even with the pause of adrenaline rushing into her veins, she questioned her next move, as well as the starstruck-literally- wrestler. From what she had heard, she could gather that he was in a dire situation. And the more dire it was, the more reckless she believed he would get. Because what was to be expected of a wrestler head-over-heels in love with his image? But that judgement of his behavior was bias in its own rights; she had only knew him through television and the massive hype that swept the land years back after he defeated the Gigan.

But for now, she had no idea what was happening in the Canopy Kingdom besides the fact that the Black Egret's had changed allegiance, from what she could gather. Who was that woman Brain Drain was speaking to? What significance did she have in any affair at all? She did state that she was Queen, and even the Black Egret addressed her as such... But there was to be be no queen for a long time. The Kingdom had stopped crowning them after Queen Renoir's time, so she was dreadfully confused. And the labs. What happened to the other labs? Were they annexed in some way? By linking the woman's status of 'Queen'- if that was to be believed- it seemed so. But if this was happening all this time, then what was happening to the city? She did not know, but she knew it would be soon before she discovered what state the Kingdom was in.

But deep within her, her subconscious instincts knew one thing. Find Beowulf.

 _Help Beowulf_.

* * *

 _Hours later..._

"Hmm... What time's it?" the black jackal groaned in the hot rays above him, before he pushed back the sleeves of his right hand to reveal a watch that said '9:36'. Albus sighed before rolling them back and turning to the group of Black Egrets behind him.

"Pick up the pace, slowpokes!"

As the sun shone into his eyes, Albus turned away from them, and made his way behind the curtains. He approached a door in the distance, and entered, before descending down stairs into a dimly lit chamber below. Bastet's Den was undergoing renovations, at the moment, and when it is complete... well, he himself was unable to imagine the sheer size of the place. And the entire thing began just two days ago, and they were almost complete. And it was all thanks to the Black Egrets; sissies who could not help but bow down to anyone who had their little Princess. He would have laughed at how dependent they were. He and Horace were completely different when it came to their employee. Eliza was already strong enough to overpower anyone, so what was the use trying to protect her, other than aid her in her own defenses?

As he walked down the shoddy wooden stairs- the place had to be rushed at certain areas- he entered a dark room above the stage. To his right were many cords and cables, all connecting to speakers above him, and to his left, a large array of stage props. A low echo resonated around the large catacombs of musical instruments, and he knew all too well where it came from. Waltzing with a leer, he turned with the cords at one corner, and chuckled when he saw what was in front of him. with a tone so menacing it made the dust in the air shiver.

"'Sup, big guy? You awake?"

There was a low groan, as if someone had awoken drowsy and not fully conscious.

"Good, cos' it's time for you to start rehearsin'."

* * *

 **I have no idea if Beowulf can be considered the main character. I have to say everyone in this journey's a main character, so yeah. Also, Valentine. See you next, next week, then! (my updates are slowing due to work and time constraint *:P*)**

 **P.S. For those who were confused with the 'stop crowning Queens' thing, I made it because I thought that people were afraid of the fact that, because Queens have close to the highest class, they had a chance to attain the Skull Heart the most, hence why they stopped crowning them (At least the Princesses want that Heart gone). And I could have developed a suggestion saying that people were superstitious of the power the Skull Heart gives to its wishers. Maybe the Skull Heart gives power according to how powerful the person already is; physically or even in significance.**

 **We can look at how many Skullgirls there already are and analyze how this is so: Annie's mother, who has no mention of how powerful she was, Squigly's mom Selene Contiello, who was defeated, presumably, by the Medici Mafia, Marie, who is defeated in-game, and Queen Renoir, who we know is the most powerful and needed the alliance of multiple kingdoms to defeat. Now, we don't know about Annie's mom, so we'll omit her. Look at the power scale: Marie is someone who isn't well-known, so players can easily defeat her as one player. Selene needed an entire mafia gang to take down, while Queen Renoir, the most well-known in the Kingdoms, and maybe in other Kingdoms, was the most powerful. See it? Marie is not famous, so she was 'easy', Selene is well-known, so she is speculated to be very powerful, while Queen Renoir basically wrecked everyone until she was stopped. So seriously, the superstition could have worked.**

 **Okay, how in the world did answering one question become an entire episode of Game Theory (seriously, check it out on youtube)? Well, I hope that answers, or helps clear out some parts of the question. Thanks for reading *:D*.**

 **P.S.S. Wow, a second update responding to the same person (he has no account, so I can't really message him directly). Mandrake came up with a good point that the Skull Heart gave power based on the extent of what the wisher wanted; Queen Renoir wanted to stop an ENTIRE war, so of course a lot of power is bestowed upon her. Selene only wished for her family to come back to life, which is why she had less power than Renoir, and Marie was meh with her wish of punishing some slave traders, which was why she was manageable. True, that is incredibly plausible- heck, it might just be true- but to keep to the fanfic, I'll continue with the speculations stated before, or you readers (not only Mandrake) can interpret it yourself as to why they stopped crowning Queens.**


	5. Fight or Flight

**Hello, guys! I'm really sorry for not posting faster. I was lazy, and I kinda went off-schedule with my studies and this fanfic. I had to rush in a few points, but I hope this chapter at least satisfies you. If there are any plot-holes or things that don't make sense, you can P.M. (private message, for you newcomers with accounts) or just review this story for those without accounts. I'll regularly check on them and try to answer with my super discreet 'P.S.'s. Now, time to stop rambling about being late. Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Harsh criticism of any mistakes, and even spelling errors, is welcomed.**

* * *

The young Dagonian blinked as she watched from a distance, only separated from what commotion unfolding outside by a glass window, so easily shattered with simple forces that she grew astounded of how such an object can take up so much of the wall. There were lights; so many shining pillars staring down at what she thought was a humongous bell-shaped object clad in the brightness of flashes. But she was too far from it all to truly know what was happening. She saw movement from the object; it bent over towards the sea at the edge of the docks, as if worshipping a god, but that was when the group behind it began flashing fire, and it began to spark as if it had been hit by some metal object.

Like gunfire.

She gave a light gasp, and continued to be transfixed on the scene. _What's happening_ , she questioned in her mind, but the cloudy thoughts had blurred any chance of an answer.

"Minette!" cried the catfish Dagonian behind the counter, "We're closing up shop. Time for you to go back home."

"Ah," she tore her eyes away from the glass and turned around, "Y-yes, Yu-Wan." The Dagonian then hurried to the back of the diner to grab her belongings and leave quietly; quietly into the foreboding night, unaware of what the world had to tell.

With her bag and little brown hat in tow, she said her farewells and left, but as she took her first step outside, she shivered as the cold sea winds blew its current through her tail-like appendage on top of her head. The night was cruel to her, and she quivered below its great immenseness. She felt the moon watch her as she trotted rather softly above the wooden platforms, to the asphalt road some distance ahead where a lean, black car awaited her. There was a tiny spark of surprise within Minette's eyes, but she quickly suppressed the emotion, and stopped her feet just outside the window, waiting for an answer inside. The driver within replied by rolling down the window, and peeking her head outside.

"Come on," the driver said with a tired frown, "It's time to go back home."

"Where's dad?" Minette asked, puzzled of the absence of family.

"He's out of Canopy. There's an appointment he made with some guys at the Chess Kingdom. Now come in, I need my beauty sleep."

Minette sighed with an upset toe before she entered. Her father, the River King, was always busy, so this did not come to her as much of a surprise. And her mother usually tagged along with him, so she was with her sisters, most of the time. Seating herself near the window, she rested her head on her roosting arms and stared out as the scenery began scrolling away, contemplating as second home in Little Innsmouth disappeared. But she knew it would stay where it had always stayed. She knew Yu Wan would greet her tomorrow, and the day after that, and many days to come. And she knew everyone, everything would stay where they were.

As she stared out, dreaming of a new tomorrow, she saw jeeps parked beside the illuminated street, and Black Egrets pouring from the interior. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the swarm, and she bore witness to a group hauling what she thought was a relatively large fish. But then she recalled what she had seen, and, although blurry even in memory due to the distance between them and her, she immediately realized these people were the same ones she saw moments before.

A sudden chill- an anxiety of how she witnessed such a horrifying scene- made her shiver within. A few of the Egrets carried guns on their hands, and with this she immediately confirmed what the flashes were. The urge to tell the driver to stop began to pester her, but she hesitantly dismissed the emotions within her. She groaned, and sat back on her seat, looking up to space. Maybe ignoring it would be a wise choice, thought Minette as she focused her vision into the shadows.

The Dagonian had little clue of the creeping changes that insidiously crawled through the whole of the Canopy Kingdom- by ignoring, she was not understanding. She was just an average, everyday person, not one to read every bit of news; and she had a job to do, further limiting any time she had for gossip- much less reading. But she was aware that something was churning. From the ascension of a Queen- something many found rather surprising, taking into account how the general public were afraid of another 'Queen Renoir' incident happening once again- to the disappearance of Nadia Fortune, the latter in which she found very painful to acknowledge. From her parents, she found out of the new Queen's first appearance today; an event so important in the Canopy Kingdom's history that she had also learnt that it would be broadcasted throughout the entire kingdom. Sad that the store had to close at this time; if it had continued opening its doors, she would have taken the opportunity to watch the broadcast. But she had to wait till she arrived home before she could hear anything coming out from their new Queen's mouth.

As she pondered, she once again edged herself to the windows, and eyed the disheveled beggars and their unfilled wallets, at the diminishing stars that shine for so many years, and at the dark corridors shrouded in a shadow that deterred all that dared enter. She sighed. The night was becoming too restful for her exhausted body. She slowly rolled down her increasingly-heavy eyelids till they collided and shut, before her body went limp and she slept.

Five days ago, the Medici Mafia seemed to disappear from the streets- she knew that, because her father's casino was a hotspot for them. A day later, nothing seemed to happen, other than mild panic from those who were affiliated with the influence of the mafias themselves. The next day after that gave rise to rumors of a new Queen, and the Renoir Family's step down the throne. Next, the news broke out of the Queen's first appearance, followed by surprise and questions. And yesterday was the 'big day' for the new Queen; her debut on the stage, and everyone's first impressions of Her Majesty. There would have been a buffet. There would have been celebrations like no other. Her words would have rolled off her tongue like pearls being spat out by clams, and new laws would have laid themselves out to every civilian like a red carpet- only, no one really wanted to step on it. A historical landmark that no one else thought would have happened during the remaining of the Renoir's rule. A truly glorious day that overshadowed all other. A spectacle that would spread to the other Kingdoms of the world like a wildfire.

She didn't see it, though.

She believed she had the most unfortunate luck as of last night; the television was receiving no signal at all, and showed itself as blind static. But as she painstakingly tried to get any form of discernible reception, she grew too tired of the night, and gave up on her search for any technicolor image to come up in her monochrome screen. But when she awoke, everyone in her house; sisters, maids, butlers, everyone- except the driver of last night- had begun fretting of the new Queen, citing how dangerous she was, killing all those people present. But Minette dismissed all of these as just a prank devised by her sororal individuals... No, wait, there's a mistake! Slash the sisters; they were not there when she woke up today. Why? Because they had left with their friends.

Minette had rose too late.

"Why didn't anyone wake me up!?" she whined with a suppressed irritation. Her servants only hesitated for a moment, before one of them cleared his throat and began speaking of their worries- an emotion so high in the monarchy of emotions that they had completely forgotten about her. Even the breakfast- or brunch, at that moment- for her had not even been cooked. Minette, in the rush, had to settle for a simple slice of toast and had to leave her headdress before she rushed to the car awaiting her outside. By now, the sun was not casting a simple dawn to the world, instead it had just begun to cast its full majesty to those that bore the pain of the heat it emitted.

Arriving outside of the Dagonian-filled coast, Minette quickly alighted from the car with her purse and coat, shut the door and rushed through the empty streets and wooden bridges. The splashes of puddles colliding with her shoes had sprayed and wet her feet, but she paid no attention to it. She was late, and this was in no way going to settle nicely with Yu-Wan.

 _He must have his hands full..._ she thought with a worried expression as the store came into view. She sprinted down the last stretch of road, burst into the establishment, and cried at the top of her Dagonian lungs, "YU-WAN! I'm so sorry I'm-"

The last words she had planned to utter forcefully stuck itself in her throat. She stopped the momentum she had built up running all the way here, and her eyes widened to capture the full image of what was presented to her- the environment, once ignored, had begun to speak louder than her inevitable ignorance, revealing a simple truth she had failed to pick up. Nobody was here. The streets were in the same, lonesome state too. And during the time she was in the car, when she peered out of the window, it was the same sight as what she was seeing now. The emptiness of Little Innsmouth had involuntarily spooked her to an extent where she was speechless for some time, only shaking off the confusion when Yu-Wan appeared from the kitchen.

"Ah, Yu-Wan."

The catfish looked over to her and replied, "Minette, where have you been? Nah, who cares. No one's come for the entire morning, anyways."

"Where is everybody?" she asked timidly, turning her head from side to side to see how many tables were empty.

"Oh, most of them are running away from the Canopy Kingdom."

Run away?

"What? Why?"

"You didn't see the Queen's appearance yesterday?"

"N-no, I couldn't."

"Well, I heard from my brother that she murdered everyone who was invited."

Minette gave a loud start, her eyes widened with the advent of the shocking discovery, and her body tensed. "What? H-how...?"

"I dunno. But I do know everyone's trying to flee the Kingdom from fear of oppression." Yu-Wan turned to the sink behind the counter, and turned the tap open. The trickling of water only served to fill up the empty room with sound, but nothing else. The elderly then washed his hands in the pouring liquid, before closing it. He then said to her, "I've got a restaurant to run, so what's the use of leaving."

Minette found herself in the middle of a small conflict. 'Small' was the correct word, at this point, because she herself had little knowledge concerning anything that was presented to her. What was going on? First her household began panicking of the New Queen, then the whole Kingdom? Yes, she had once thought of change. But not this change. She was not ready for such a giant turn of events that swept through the Kingdom like high tide. If her parents had been here, what would have happened to them? Was the sudden disappearance of the Medici the work of the new queen, bent on destroying all opposition, including the Renoirs? The threat of the Skullgirl had passed- she was destroyed by an unknown individual six days prior- but now this had to come? And was all this even true? That was what she then asked to the chef.

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulder, "I was busy closing shop when it was airing, and when I got back home, my brother started talking about what happened. I don't know the details, but from what I hear, the Queen's a monster."

Minette gulped. She was unsure of what to do; should she follow those who had believed such a crisis was in the works, or should she stay to see the end of it all, and conclude her doubts with relief or heart-wrenching horror?

But before her mind could incline any form of reassurance, she had begun to pace to the kitchen and dress herself in her apron. She had nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, so dumbfounded of her new discovery that she had leaned on the closest form of comfort; and that was the part-time job she had worked on for so many months. Yu-Wan's presence was assurance enough that the dreary environment had slowly washed away with the tide of serenity. Somehow, with the loneliness came a morbid tranquility. True, it failed to erase all fears from her, and perhaps the catfish Dagonian's, mind, but it at least had put her stress in restraints. The last survivors of the world always see the most breathtaking of sights; maybe that was what she was seeing now. The last survivors of a running city- worse, a running kingdom.

"Uh..." Yu-Wan then said, "Why is someone sleeping below my cabinet?"

* * *

An entire night.

They have been running for an entire night.

Annie cringed as the sores on her knees began to sting, in their late stages of numbness. Sagan, clasped on the ear, flopped side by side near her waist as she ran down the street. The bunny parasite was exhausted after running at top speed for so long. And the cold nights contributed so much shadowy jest that she had fallen on her knees too many times than she could count. And that was not including the wrestler beside her, who, though out of breath, drove himself to continue his sprint alongside the thousand year old girl; was it pride that made him continue- the shattering realization of a girl outrunning a grown adult? She had no questions for the matter, but instead focused on her surroundings:

Behind them, marching Egrets growing restless and desperate. Beside them, empty buildings with their occupants fleeing. The irritating smell of a sharp salty sea ran right up her nostril, and the tar roads were painted in a polka-dot of white bird excrement. But most striking to her was the empty houses, a sight she had seen for hours but yet still intrigued her.

She had seen the terrible power of television after the broadcast, and the entire city of New Meridian was on the run for something better than a speculated autocrat and killer Queen. But they would find no escape from the hands of Neferu. She had planned it all in so little time, that she had to gasp at how fast the Egrets mobilized to block off every exit from New Meridian, and even the Canopy Army having blocked off land and sea routes. This was a piece of knowledge they had extorted from an Egret they had captured last night, during a miraculous pause of Egret movement. And why were they serving this new Ruler? Because their loyalty for the Princesses were being threatened. Strange that they failed to get a hint when they watched the broadcast last night, when the scene of a dark, dirty cell came into view. The last remaining Renoirs were locked away from the light of day, and the Egrets, sworn to protect the ones that created them, had given up in destroying the all-powerful monster.

Annie had to agree to their lack of resistance. Their guns did little to one that could regenerate once a person came into arm's length. And what's not to say of the power of the monster that destroyed the Skullgirl? None, because her power spoke for itself. She was unstoppable to people like the Egrets. In the end, they had to bow down to their new Queen, in a shamed, wilting shape. She believed they had the desires to lash out and kill Neferu, if they could.

They left the Egret tied to a steel girder before fleeing from the spotlights. And now they were equalled to fugitives on the run for something both of them could barely comprehend. And although Beowulf had continued rambling of his plan of uniting the people- something she had half-heartedly considered for an entire minute- she found the plan lacking in the most fundamental of all unification plans:

A stage.

"Annie, over there!" Beowulf cried from behind her, pointing to the narrow turning to her right.

"The coast," she replied with suppressed enthusiasm, "Maybe we can get a boat!"

The thought that Beowulf might have a different idea in mind had not come to her, so she turned to the right without any question, with him doing the same, into the now-deserted coastal settlement of the Dagonians. The sound of skidding rubber boots filled the air behind them, a forlorn sign that warned them of their inevitable capture.

It was not long before they found themselves running through the lower, soaked streets of Little Innsmouth. The periodic splashes of falling bodies gave little entertainment to the two runaways, though. But as they neared a maze of overhanging bridges, Annie began to stumble over the pain of her legs. Her muscles could do no more than keep her steady; but Beowulf had noticed her tiring body before she began to slow down. With a quick swipe, he picked up the girl and placed her on his shoulder. Annie had given a surprised yelp in reply before she noticed the sight behind her; the bunch of Black Egrets looked like a convoluted, black bouquet of flowers, clothed in the gloves that would lay themselves on them once they were caught. There was an intermittent rhythm of soldiers dispersing from their swarm on to different paths: through alleyways, up steps and overall all around them, akin to bees. Or wolves. They were starting to enclose them in their box.

"Beowulf, faster!" she cried- her mind was too tired to come to the conclusion that he too was rather fatigued after running and hiding for an entire night.

The wrestler did not answer; instead, he focused on the rather strange obstacle in front of him. And what was that obstacle? A docile, unmoving trolley train standing on a gradual slope in front of them; of course, he could just move around it, but the bridge ledge jutting out of the structures behind had begun to fill his head with a rather tempting suggestion.

"Get ready!"

As he came closer to the train, he took one stomp, before jumping like a spring and grasping the roof with his two hands. Annie's two legs, at that moment, found themselves sandwiched between his and the train's metal body; warmth from the body and the cold steel gave a conflicting sensation she found herself uncomfortable with.

Beowulf strained as he pulled the combined weight of Annie and the Hurting up on to the roof of the train, while, below, the Egrets scattered, slowly circling the lone train. Those who had detached from the group had begun to come back together, joining with the crowd.

Rushing to get away, Beowulf then picked her back up again, before tossing her lightly on to the bridge, making her land with an unpleasant wooden clonk. He then followed, rising up with the wooden platform while being unaware and numb of the stray splinters jutting out like spikes on the boards. At that point, the Egrets began to depart to different directions. There was no need to all climb one by one to chase the elusive runaways, so they instead sought to encase the two individuals in a circle of soldiers.

It was not long before Beowulf noticed a rather peculiar store beside them, that created the foundation where . A very familiar store, might I add. So familiar that the wrestler found himself rather surprised but relieved by the sudden appearance of it. True, it was too much a coincidence for him to find it again, but here it was. The restaurant he had gone to for his first 'shoot' a week ago. He quickly pulled the girl beside him into its doors, crashing in so loudly that Annie swore every Egret outside had heard them. Beowulf quickly shut the wooden barrier, before freezing with his back to the door, panting to get back his breath; and although the Egrets were closing in on them, they allotted their precious time to gather their bearings. Annie was sprawled on the floor, with her four limbs spread out and chest heaving up and down; Sagan rested on her shoulders; Beowulf slowly slid down with his back to the wall, before lying on the cold floor, silent. The whole restaurant, too, was quiet, allowing their deep breaths to echo through the wooden boards and concrete. The place was dark, only lit by the dim sun peering through the windows, and the chairs were stacked on top of tables, awaiting he eventual opening of the place. There was no one here, Beowulf noticed. Disappointment stirred within him, but he zipped his mouth from speaking the emotion, and instead continued resting. Blinking himself from dozing off, he noticed that Annie herself had dozed to sleep. He chuckled lightly- maybe there were things she never grew up from, although she was visibly exhausted- that should have been the answer to her state.

But his relaxation was going to be cut short, as he heard the sudden knocking of wood and boots from the outside. Quickly, he took Annie up from the floor, along with Sagan, and navigated the dark restaurant, trying to find a way to escape their detection. As he heaved the sleeping girl around, he noticed the cabinets behind the counter. They were rather large, and he then procured the idea that there might be a way to hide within them. Quickly, he rushed to the closest one near the sink, and opened it; fortunately, they were relatively empty. Quickly, he shoved Annie inside one of them, before checking out the one beside it. Beowulf found himself in a predicament, for both kitchen cabinets he checked were actually connected together inside. He cursed under his breath, but then heard the frightening stomps increase in volume. He shook his head to straighten the muddled mess in his head, before turning back to Annie's hiding spot, opening it, and forcing himself inside, pushing her deeper into the unrealistically large cabinet. The Hurting was an exception, though, because he had taken it off his back so that he could hold it on his hands.

The insides of this cabinet was more tighter than he had expected. The pipe that cut his legs apart from coming together had minimized the space inside, nearly blocking the red folding chair from even entering. Annie, impervious to all outside stimuli in her deep sleep, was now laying on her shoulders instead of her back just to clear up space; and the solitary bottles of dishwasher were quickly placed on the sink above them by the wrestler.

As his body found comfort within the darkened cupboard, he heard the door open. Then all was silent within the square box which held the two. His, and Annie's, breath echoed within, so much louder than what he would hear outside; it gave him the farce that everyone could hear him behind the wooden boards, and that only served to trick his senses. At the slightest sound of a footstep, he tensed. His breath began to come slower and softer as he began to choke in the musty air, so thick with vapor and dust that he swore he could bite a chunk of the space in front of him off. He stopped moving altogether. He swore he could hear his heart cry out as it drowned in the adrenaline clogging his vein. He then stopped blinking. The steps had begun to come closer and closer, like a snake ready to lunge at the frightened mouse. Worse, if they found him, he could not move fast enough to combat them- the pipe was on the way, and he would have tripped and make himself a fool. He could not escape in time too, due to the same reasons stated before. He could do nothing as they searched- 'they', because he had begun to hear more than one pair of black boots strut inside.

There was the usual commands: 'Check over there', 'something... something... the kitchen', and the likes. So strict and exasperated, so full of desperation for the safety of their princess, that he swore that if they asked him to come out of wherever he was in, his body would move by itself and actually exit into the barrels of guns- well, that was if they owned guns. Then, something happened. There was the sound of a squeak, then a slam.

They were checking the cabinets.

Again, he cursed, but waited for the inevitable. And for all the time he stayed, he waited as they got closer.

And waited.

But as if blessed by a miracle, someone yelled from outside, and requested every Egret within the restaurant to leave, and search for another place. It was unbelievable for him; so much so, that he stayed within for some time, afraid that there could have been a trap awaiting them. But nothing happened for so many minutes, that exhaustion had begun to bore into his body. They had gone, and he was alone with a little girl in an empty restaurant... Now that seemed awkward- cringeworthy, even.

"Hey, Annie..." he muttered wheezingly to the sleeping girl beside him, slowly being taken by the drowsiness, "We lost them. They're... gone..." There was no way she would answer at this point- she was already too deep in her sleep to even wake up during the duration he was holding her, so what was the chance of her waking up now? But for Beowulf, the sight of her resting so peacefully, even after such an adrenaline-pumping event, had fueled his desire, his need for sleep. He had stayed idle for too long, that his body had stopped complying to his commands to move. And now that they were gone- finally, because they had been on their trail for hours upon end- his hands bean to loose its grip on the rims of the Hurting; his eyes fluttered and tried to keep his sight awake, but slowly, it died down, and he closed his eyes. Even in such a degrading environment, even the sleepiest of creatures can salvage the comforts of rough concrete and a rusty pipe between the knees. Slowly, he drifted into a dream world, with little worry of the days after.

* * *

"Uh," Minette pondered as she loomed rather innocently over the sleeping man in the overly-large cabinet, "Hello?"

"It's Beowulf, isn't it?" Yu-Wan said with a slow slur- his signature accent when it came to speaking.

"I-I think so... But why's he doing here?"

"Maybe we should get him out, and put him somewhere else. I need that soap." After he said this, the Dagonian began to crouch and grab the folding chair out first, slowing inching it out. But as it left Beowulf's arms, the wrestler's eyes shot open, causing the two Dagonians to flinch in surprise. In a state of confusion, Beowulf tried to stand while he was inside the cramp cabinet, only to hit himself on the head on the stone roof. He groaned, before sliding back down to a slump, still impervious of the two individuals eyeing him with curiosity; but that did not last long, because he turned after waiting quietly for two seconds and pulled back at the sight of the two. Both parties exchanged no words. Minette blinked twice in the awkward atmosphere. He returned the favor, then began smiling widely.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" he cried joyously, before somehow sliding out of the cabinet- albeit he got stuck , and took some seconds to exit and continue his merry and celebrating relief. "YOU GUYS ARE HERE!" he popped out of the cabinet, and, with arms opened wide, enveloped the two in a frighteningly tight bear-hug. Heck, he was so strong that he had literally carried the two off the ground, twirling within the limited space for some time. His excitement was indescribably spine-breaking at the moment, and Minette had seen, and felt, it first-hand. Yu-Wan swore he heard a crack.

"Wait," he let the two go, and took a step back, "How long has it been?"

"Uh..." Yu-Wan thought as he massaged his back, "I came an hour ago."

"An hour ago?" he turned his head to a simple red clock standing on the counter to his left. He remembered the red sentinel from when he came in- flicking his eyes from one side to another painted the complete image of the restaurant- or diner, now that he thought of it- in just a few second. The hands were now pointing at an area around half-past Eight. But he remembered, albeit vaguely, that the clock hands were pointing at a five and a seven. Wait, which one was the short hand? Which one was the long hand? Had he been sleeping for three hours, or one? He did not even know why he was panicking over something so small; it could have been that the hectic night's rushed effects had not been slept away within him.

Then, he felt the sore on his back. Beowulf groaned as his spine began to ache after so long sleeping on concrete, more so in the most cramped position possible. And the muscles within him had not recovered from the fatigue- he swore he would have fell if he had let down his strength.

And during all this, Minette watched, confused but solemn of his condition. What could have driven the rather pompous wrestler to such a state, and to have pushed him to the point of sleeping within a kitchen cabinet? Heck, the larger question was regarding everything this Kingdom was turning into. Maybe something happened with him and this fiasco about the new Queen? Still, it seemed too early to make connections. But of course, curiosity coaxed her to peel off the first layer of the first layer of the mystery, so she asked Beowulf, "Uh, what happened? Why are you here?"

"Oh," he turned around with a face that showed that he was willing to speak, but then it faltered, and his expression contorted into a gloom shell of its past self. "Oh..." he repeated, now more solemn and quiet, as if suppressed by an inward grief.

"Uh, who is this girl in here?" spoke Yu-Wan, who had no care to the mood.

"Ah, Annie!" Quickly, he bent down and took the girl out of her concrete bed, before placing her on the ground and tapping her head lightly- too lightly for a muscle-bound wrestler- to wake her from her sleep. The two Dagonians watched, with a hidden, rather morbid, thought that perhaps she was not asleep, but unconscious- the cabinet did not come with good ventilation...

"Hey, wake up..." he said loudly, unaware that it irritated the sleeping child.

"Ungh..." she groaned, before twitching her eyes and clenching her teeth, as if waking up was an experience too painful to say in words. Sagan had apparently jumped to life during all this, and had climbed on her face, flopping on it like a person would on a bean bag, suffocating Annie till she forcefully jumped from the floor to breath in fresh air. She coughed multiple times before her parched throat settled down. That was when she noticed the two total strangers awkwardly staring at her. She froze, and so did the two, who instinctively did so on the guise that she might react in a more than polite manner to the two.

"Uh, Beowulf?" she spoke.

"Yeah?"

"Who are these people?"

That was when Minette felt the incentive to introduce herself. When she was done with her curtsy, Yu-Wan did the same, albeit he did not end with a girl's curtsy.

"Calm down, Annie," Beowulf said as he patted her back, "They're nice guys." Looking to the two, he asked, "Where are the Black Egrets, anyways?"

"Sorry," Yu-Wan shrugged, "I don't know. But from what I see, someone made a mess before I came."

"You can blame them."

"Uh, Mister Beowulf," said Minette, "What happened? Are the Black Egrets looking for you?"

Having finally calmed down, Annie began to speak, "Neferu's looking for us... More accurately, me."

"Neferu?" the Dagonians girl tilted her head, puzzled by her words. "Is this about the new Queen?"

"Well, yeah. Didn't you see the broadcast yesterday?"

"The television was broken..."

"I went to sleep. When I got back from the store. Politics ain't my forte."

Annie sighed. There was much explaining to do, on her part. It was not to say that Beowulf knew little, it was the fact that she had her own personal history with the Crimson Scourge. And so, with minimal help from the wrestler regarding Bastet's Den and 'Eliza', she gave a brief overview of the new ruler.

As time passed, Yu-Wan had gone back to managing his kitchen. Even if there were no mouths to feed, he still had to clean his vocation any- oh, scratch that, Beowulf had just exclaimed how starving he was. Annie had gone from standing on her rather weakened legs to sitting on one of the wooden chairs, along with Minette, who found it necessary to learn more from the girl she had seen advertisements of in so many places in the past.

"Wait," Minette said, interrupting Annie during her explanation. She was confused of a certain plot point that came to her as surprising and unreal, "A thousand years ago? Then, how-?"

"My mom." Her voice dropped to a silent mutter, "She... turned into the Skullgirl to wish that I was young forever."

"Sooooo how does this connect with Eliza?" asked Beowulf, who was now munching on really soft tofu. After he asked, he turned to the catfish Dagonian, and light-heartedly requested, "Chamomile, please? No sugar- a man's gotta keep fit."

"She..." Annie continued, "Neferu was there. She appeared after my mom wrecked a few city blocks worth. The very moment they saw each other, it was just insanity. I-I was so young back then, I didn't know what to do. Sagan wasn't with me, too, so I... I watched." The stuttering in her voice felt so surreal, coming from one who always had a level head. Beowulf paused, as if unable to absorb the story presented to him; not that he could not comprehend it, but just the tone has caught him off-guard.

"It was over after the entire street was razed to the ground. My mom, she didn't recognize me... In the end, Neferu won. The woman I saw in my books, who I thought was history, won a Skullgirl."

"Um... books?" Minette uttered softly so as to not incur any ill emotions within the green-haired girl, who fought back the urge to even consider tearing from her eyes.

"They stopped publishing stories of the Crimson Scourge hundreds of years ago. Covered that bit of history up with small wars and such. But maybe forgetting- or changing- the past isn't always a good thing." Clearing her throat, she continued, "When she obtained the Skull Heart, it spoke to her... as if it knew her from so many years ago. Then the name, Neferu; that was how I got the connection that she was the Queen in my books. She destroyed the Heart after they exchanged some words, and then left me alone."

At this point, everyone was now silent. Their interest had skyrocketed, and they were earnestly listening, breaking apart details so that they could fully understand the story behind such a prominent figure from the past, and now.

"Well, after that, my adventures began, I guess. I found Sagan, then went around doing things I thought would make the world right. I never found her after that, though, even after I scoured the Kingdoms. But now I'm an actor- was an actor," she corrected herself.

"So you want to kick her off the throne?" Yu-Wan questioned her, "It might be very hard. As you said, she has the Egrets by her side. You two can't beat them all."

"Hey, that's where my idea comes into plan!" exclaimed Beowulf, who then rudely butted into the conversation with a howl, "If we can just get everyone in the Kingdom on our side, we can beat her! She'll get kicked out for sure!" Of course, that idea was tentative at most, but he had full faith that if done right, they would succeed. His enthusiasm was met with mixed results: Yu-Wan contemplated on the thought, Minette found some reliability in what he had said, and Annie sighed in embarrassment.

"How exactly are you going... to-"

She then yawned.

Out of all the seconds it could have happened, it had to occur in the middle of a question. Feeling the eyes on her, she cupped her mouth with both her hands, and kept silent. Well, more accurately, everyone froze.

"We have a storeroom upstairs, with some sleeping bags- I use them when I stay for the night to do some business," spoke Yu-Wan after a few seconds passed by, "You might need to rest a bit. Not sleeping for an entire night's an unhealthy thing."

"Uh... Yeah, I'll go... up." Annie slid off from her seat, before climbing up the nearby wooden, creaky stairs, disappearing from view. But when those left behind lost her from their sights, the periodic creaking stopped, and silence crept from the stairs. Beowulf, uncomfortable with the reoccurring stillness of the atmosphere, began to try and conceive small conversations with the Dagonians, from how their store was going to how he was rather sorry of the fact that he did not realize that they were not even a film crew back then when he was fooled by a shape-shifting monster to think that he was on live television. Yu-Wan gave short answers, while Minette spoke more frequently, now that she had castes away the doubts of the two foreign individuals. True, the three were concerned of the Queen and the time she would cast a shroud of influence amongst the people, but for now, there was no need to rush. They had little worries that Eliza- or was it more appropriate to call her Neferu?- would make her move so quickly. There was the need to settle down those that were fleeing their homes.

Seconds after Beowulf finished his second conversation, he heard it. A sob. A miserable sob, saturated with the distasteful and appalling melancholia, echoing above the stairs, and Beowulf's eyes widened with astonishment. Annie, who was headstrong and mature as any adult, was crying, grieving over the memories she had unintentionally evoked. True, every person has emotions hidden from everyone, but he had been given the guise that she had locked all these emotions, these dark events away in an even darker part of memory's inner facade. He then turned to the waitress, as if begging to know what to do. She stared back at him, looking shocked that she was being relied on by a capable adult, and wondered what to do. But alas, she had no ideas, other than to tell him that he should comfort the girl, who he had personal relations to- work, and out-of-work relations mostly involving discussing what jobs to get and how they were to deal with unemployment.

Beowulf gulped at the suggestion, but braved the possibilities- also the fear that some readers might start putting the two as a pair, which would make little sense in and of itself- and stomped confidently up the stairs. But the first sight he saw was the little bunny doll parasite holding on the girl's legs, and he saw her with her right arm propping her body on the handles of the stairs, whilst her left arm held her sobbing face straight. One leg was above the other in the stairs; the grief had come so slowly, but escalated so swiftly that, granted the modicum of time, she was caught off-guard and could do nothing but allow the memories to return; childhood memories, memories of family long gone, and the witness of her mother's destruction and demise; these memories seeped into her mind like an insidious root, and pained her heart in remembering such dark days.

"Annie?" Beowulf muttered loud enough for her to hear him. But even though he was basically intruding her personal space, she did not reply or lash out. Instead, she wiped both her eyes with her dry arms till there were not an ounce of tears left on her red eyes. Although she stuttered with the twitching sobs, she quietly muttered:

"Maybe there are... times when you should forget the past..." Annie then turned around, and stunned Beowulf with the look of resolve etched into her face- her eyes were still red though, and so was her nose and cheeks. "Right, Beowulf?"

The wrestler stayed silent for a moment longer, before he found that she had now calmed down, and gave one light chuckle, stretching one hand out to place it firmly on her shoulder. He held one fist in front of him, and growled excitedly, "Yeah, it's time to beat the crap out of that lady!"

Annie only gave a weak smile, before turning around and stumbling up a few steps...

She then fell face flat on the stairs.

"Holy-!" Beowulf blurted as the sight finally processed into his mind. Quickly, he pranced up the wooden boards of escalation and picked up her rather limp body. He then discovered that Sagan had cushioned the fall by hastily lying itself on the stair, where her face was suppose to land. But then, why did she fall? He looked to check if her face had any injuries, and found that she had gone back to sleep. She had been suppressing most of her fatigue for some time, and had again dozed. She needed more sleep than he had initially thought... He rolled his eyes playfully, before taking it upon himself to take her up to the storeroom.

The storeroom was not that small, in Beowulf's eyes. There was the open shelf of small cleaning equipment. An iron bucket and wooden mop laid in the corner, along with a half-empty bottle of soap. In the other corner, to the left, were two rolled blankets of brown shading, waiting to be used again. Beowulf placed Annie down on the corner, where she rested her head on her shoulder, before he began setting up the bedding. He unfurled the blanket, and set it on the floor, before placing her on top. True, it was rather crude, but it at least gave some comfort in comparison to the hard, cold wooden floor.

Later, he placed another blanket for his own comfort some distance away from her's, before laying on it. He could have finished his tofu before sleeping, but he did not dare to leave the defenseless Annie alone, especially in such dangerous times.

As he watched the roof above him, he wondered of tomorrow. What it would bring. What Eliza would do now. Although he believed that the two individuals below would immediately tell them of any sudden turn of events, he was not sure that anything worthwhile would occur today. He betted on that. Suddenly raising his fist in the air- akin to a victory pose- he smirked as he unleashed his imagination. A day when the two would go back to showbiz, and a day when everything would turn back to normal; no Medici, and no Eli- Neferu. Blah, Eliza's a better name than Neferu.

...

...

Now that he had time to catch up with his thoughts, he asked himself one question that bugged him for some time: What would an older Annie look like. YES, he knew wholeheartedly that the situation was dire and that he should rest, or, heck, think of how he was going to execute his plans, but the excuse of 'I'll think of it later' became the dominant player in his choices, so he began imagining images in his mind. He did not feel that way, of course, and there was no images that went so far for him to be called a pervert; he knew he had his boundaries, especially on one who technically cannot even grow older in appearance. But being imaginative of a child's future features seemed interesting enough, that the thought had taken him through approximately ten minutes of pondering. There was the usual joke face, that coaxed some chuckles out of him, and there were faces he saw as possible, looking at her physique now.

And after these ten minutes of self-entertainment with a pondering topic any parent can think of, he then came back to the empty slate of his mind. There was nothing else for him to do, it seemed. By the looks of it, there was no way to combat the Queen, no way to communicate to a majority of the population, and no way to escape; but why escape before you can fight back? A true Wulf in the Wulfpack would know better than to run. But a wolf knew when to attack, so, following a philosophy he rarely even followed, he waited. His opportunity would come- just not now.

"Wonder how you're doing, Grendel...?" he said aloud, as if aware that the soul of his dead rival was still listening in the distance. He could picture the Gigan, sitting in a squat, watching them like a sentinel. If he was, Beowulf didn't mind. He would have enjoyed someone who might share old wrestling stories together, but on the account that he was... not here anymore, he would have to zip his mouth shut for now. And so, Beowulf allowed himself to be carried away by Sleep's gentle hands, to be flown off into a dream, or be pulled to a nightmare.

But as he closed his eyes, he denied himself witness to the figure who entered the room from the shadows. The azure-haired nurse, Valentine, had been watching them. She had successfully tracked Beowulf down by following the vast army of Egrets chasing him. It was her who parked the train at such a convenient spot- she knew the restaurant's affiliation with him from television- and it was her who took the searching Egrets' attention away from him. Hiding in a kitchen cabinet? Hilarious, to say the least. She had eavesdropped on the two outside, and had gained some information she believed to be rather useful, but she was lacking. What could that info presented to her do, other than inform her of this new antagonistic figure's origins and powers. Yes, they were fascinating, and rather terrifying, if you look at in a way, but it did not give her any plans for the future. For now, she had to wait. Her presence had already been known to the little parasite, who was now rummaging the little girl's fanny pack for her sword. She quietly opened the door, and closed it behind her.

* * *

 **(P.S. Corner)**

 **P.S. Mandrake loves to asks questions, but that at least means that he's reading. Sadly, this will be a really, REALLY, minor spoiler that won't change much of the story. (If you don't know the question, look for Mandrake's review for Chapter 5) Adam DID take part in (temporarily) taking orders from Eliza, but rebelled at one point. He's dead.**

 **Just kidding, he isn't. He just got locked up after being publicly 'punished'. Don't worry, he can still move. It could also be why the Black Egrets are still in Eliza's control: because they lost a key member of the group, and are still lamenting his loss. Also, public tortures are scary, and rather loud (no innuendos here).**


	6. Wake Up, Kartoon!

**Halo, my beautiful readers! Here's a quick update for the story. It's shorter than the others, but that's because some big exams (and IGCSE) are coming up next month, and I need to start studying. Thank you, Mandrake, for your continuous support, and your awesome compliment. Thank you all for reading this. I'll come back in November (or December, if I'm lazy). Enjoy! Harsh criticism of any mistakes, continuity errors, grammatical errors and wrong source material usage is welcome.**

* * *

He heard her pleas. Minette's voice was almost deafening to him; she was calling for him to wake up and eat, because morning had come, and he was not awake. Beowulf stirred, but groaned for her to go away.

That felt like five minutes ago.

He didn't wake up, because the influence of exhaustion had kept him from waking.

Those few minutes of activity in the kitchen? That was fueled by the excitement brimming within him, an excitement so potent that he felt no strains or aches, but so short-lived that he found himself sleeping in a darkness. He swore that he was too sleepy to even dream, at this point. And what was not to say for Annie?

True, he was made of sterner stuff, but running was no forte of his. It was wrestling, not running marathons. He had lost count of the times he could have collapsed of exhaustion, had it not been the advent of the adrenaline pumping in his blood and Annie's orders to continue pushing.

The one thing he remembered to have forgotten was his red folding chair downstairs. He had let it rest on the counter during his feast with tofu, and was supposed to retrieve it after he finished his meal. But maybe his concerns with the depressed, guilt-stricken and nostalgically pained Annie had made him forget of the Hurting, and it still laid downstairs.

During his brief half-sleep, he took no notice of the 'morning' she mentioned, but his well-earned sleep had got the best of him seconds after he told her to leave. The moment he heard her close the door, he slept again, with little care of anything that would potentially happen to him, lest harm him.

It would be long before he woke up. But time would find itself against him, and everyone involved. Because something was stirring, twitching to life within the ranks of the Black Egrets.

Neferu was making her move, and she was not accepting any delays.

A sudden blare of static, as if a radio was right beside his ears, made him jump back into reality. The shock got Beowulf breathless. He seemed almost on the brink of hyperventilation, even though he had no existing history of that condition ever striking him; his breath was quick, as if all the oxygen within him was blowed out by the noise. Then he noticed the strange dimness of the room he had slept in, along with the addition of new items laid on the floor. Two additional blankets were on the floor, as if a message telling Beowulf the two employees of the fine establishment had not sought their homes, and instead found comfort in a room shared by a tired wrestler and an equally tired little girl over a thousand years old with the power of a parasite- a strange combination one doesn't encounter every day, or, more specifically, any day.

To his right, was the instrument that nearly burst his ears: an actual rectangular radio, wielding a long antennae like a sword. Static continued blaring from it. To his left, was a dish of tofu, now cold as stone. It had been here for hours, neglected, uneaten, and consumed by the lack of escaped warmth, left there for him, and perhaps Annie, to be consumed. A spoon rested on the plate, with its head pointed at the wobbly flesh of the white slab of soya concoction.

But why was a radio here? Heck, what time was it? As he got up to his feet, his legs began to wobble, rather uneasy of the pressure it had stopped exerting upon itself for some time. But for how long?

"Ugh..." he heard a pained groan from behind him. Annie had begun to wake from her slumber, irritated by the same source of noise that spooked the wrestler out of his own sleep. Sagan the parasite had her sword in its arms moments before, dropping it once it heard her voice. It then began to pull on her hair, till she woke up with a suppressed start. She sat up, and gave a yawn, stretching her hands out, unaware that Beowulf was behind her. Smoothing her messy hair back to normal, she looked to her parasite, and muttered, "Morning... I guess? Wow, my back's aching..."

"M-morning."

She turned around, rather flabbergasted that someone else was with her. But after seeing Beowulf, she settled down and sighed in relief. "Yeah, morning. Is it even morning?"

"I dunno..." he replied as he scratched the back of his head.

"And what's with that radio? Where did it come from?" After she finished, the radio began to emit audible music, surprising the two who looked at each other as if wondering who was at fault of tampering with it. Then, the radio began to change channels, chanting bloody slurs and screaming murderous screeches, before it stopped tuning itself, allowing a reporter behind the radio to speak. Again, the two turned to look at each other, confused, with puzzled eyes. But something ignited within the girl's eyes as she listened to the rather enthusiastically awkward announcer. She started to scoot over to the front of the radio, and Beowulf, rather curious and fascinated by the radio's effects on her, followed, sitting on the space close to her. They both began to listen eagerly; what drawn them was not the sudden presence of it, or the seemingly supernatural properties of it – it was what was being announced that made them listen. Also to note was that Beowulf noticed that it was the same announcer who he heard on television a week prior to all this.

"- citizens of New Meridian," it seemed that that the announcement had started some time ago, and they started listening from somewhere in the middle, "T-today's the glorious third day after Queen Nefe- I-I mean, Queen Eliza's crowning!" Third day? Wasn't yesterday her 'coronation'? Wait, so was today a new day from when they got to Yu-Wan's restaurant? Had they been sleeping for one days!? "It has been announced that she has called for every man, woman, a-and child, to attend her b-beautiful concert at the newly expanded Bastet's Den. A-all who do not comply will be forced out of their homes-" There was some squabbling in the background; a gruff, harsh voice was berating the now-panicking announcer. "Okay, I-I'm sorry! All who don't comply will be e-escorted to the Den by patrolling Black Egrets. The time now is five in the afternoon. Come at seven, or else they will pull you out of your homes."

Then, static.

Annie blinked herself to her senses, while Beowulf whistled with morbidly impressed air. Sagan flopped on its owner's body, unfazed.

"Did we just sleep for an entire day?" Beowulf broke the silence.

"Is that the only question you're asking? Something's happening." Turning to Beowulf, she revealed to him an adamant gaze. "I think she's going to kill more people."

Then, it dawned within him, "Wait, it's not seven yet, right? Omigosh, Bastet's Den has a stage, and everything-"

"Oh, no no no!" her voice begin to rise with severity, "That plan's insane! Neferu's going to be there, too! Even if we try, we'll get apprehended by the Egrets- heck, we'll get killed!"

"But..." Beowulf stuttered, but quickly recovered, "Come on, Annie! It's five, and Bastet's Den is only a thirty minute walk from here! We can make traps and stuff! And I know I ain't the stealthiest of guys, but at least with effort, we can get the job done."

By now, Annie knew how stubborn he was with his plan. She could not comprehend his expectations, and sought not to follow them. Rather they escape with Yu-Wan and Minette, or they die because of him. But he had made himself clear- he was not leaving without finishing what he created.

Annie balled her fists, and clicked her tongue. If Beowulf's plan worked, even if they died, most of New Meridian, maybe the whole of the Kingdom if this was broadcasted, would rise up against her and probably request the aid of other Kingdoms in overthrowing her. And the Black Egrets might help them at Bastet's Den if they understood the situation. She was once sure of what to do next. Now she was torn between trying, or fleeing. Beowulf had begun to look at her with puppy eyes, which irritated her, but it could work. True, she valued her life, but now, considering the lives of hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, it was a sacrifice perhaps worth making. She gulped- she had never come upon such a situation that demanded so much from her, before. True, she had agreed with him two nights ago, but now was a different time with different circumstances.

In the end, she gave in to the suggestion, and reluctantly submitted. "Yeah, okay." Beowulf's eyes seemed to glow brighter as she continued, "Let's go and stop a-"

"Good afternoon, citizens of New Meridian," spoke the announcer. They both turned back, stunned for words.

The radio was looping.

But how long had it been looping?

"What if..." Her voice began to shake, "What if it isn't five?"

"Then... Maybe it's six! We still have plenty of time!"

Then, someone screamed from below.

"Was that-?"

"Minette?" Annie finished his sentence.

Quickly, the two burst out of the door, and, although ready to check what was occurring below, began hearing her voice outside the store, along with Yu-Wan's rather ineffective pleas. Annie moved swiftly to the balcony, opening the door and crouching as she got close to the edge. Beowulf followed, and, to his surprise, there was a jeep parked some distance away. Both the Dagonians were being carried to the jeeps by masked individuals, as if being abducted by some secret police in broad... moonlight? And the lower districts were flooded, too, something that only happened... At night.

Then, it hit both of them.

It wasn't five or six.

Her concert had already begun. Neferu could wait no longer.

It was- probably- seven.

"Oh no," Annie said grimly, with Sagan's ears in her hands.

"Uh, hope they don't check upstairs-"

"Somebody check upstairs!" called a muffled voice from downstairs.

Crap.

Flustered, Beowulf muttered with a rushed tone, "Uh, g-got any plans?!"

Annie was caught off-guard by his sudden reliance on her, but, keen on trying to escape, she began to look around her for any routes. And the only one she found was up.

"Climb, Beowulf!" she cried softly, "We're escape through the top!"

He answered to her command immediately, as he had started scaling the rickety walls and all its old crevasses and intricate architecture.

Annie, on the other hand, got Sagan ready. It immediately began emitting rainbows from some random part of its body, and launched itself, along with Annie, who had its ears on her hand, up to the top. Fortunately, no one took notice of the bright, foreign shades of colors, other than Beowulf, who was still trying to climb to the top. When he did reach the stained, mossy roof, Annie was already a distance away, jumping around roofs, slowly descending. He blew out a deep breath, before following the distant acrobat, following her path above the narrow buildings of Little Innsmouth.

They hid from the sights of the Egrets, and, after some time, found themselves descending down to a rotting, muddy alleyway. After Annie's descent, Beowulf clumsily followed, landing on a puddle that splashed water on his legs and on Annie's dress; that was the least of her concerns, however, because not far away was a roaming group of Egrets, ready to capture anyone who was not attending.

"Let's go, Beowulf," said Annie as she resumed her pace.

"To Bastet's Den?"

Annie stopped moving. She turned her eyes to him, before nodding with a reassuring smile, "Yeah, I guess... But only if you follow my plans!"

"Shouldn't I be the one making the plans?" he replied, "I mean, I've been there many times already, so I know my way around."

Annie rolled her eyes, "Okay, sure. Explain it to me, on the way."

Beowulf scoffed and nodded before running away with her, into the intricate maze known as New Meridian, away from the light, and away from the eyes of the Egrets.

Valentine watched as they left. They turned one corner, and that was it- they left her sight. She sighed in relief; if they had not succeed, she would have had to intervene, and by this point, she did not see it fit to reveal herself to him at this time. Maybe it was her covertness or her discreet nature that had deterred her from trying to communicate with him, but the feeling in her stomach had moved her to not say a word.

During the day before, she had been eavesdropping upon the local Black Egret patrols, that were concentrated near Innsmouth after an incident involving Lab 8 occurred here.

Probably that kid.

At night, she slept, but only after stealing some basic ingredients from the fridge of the restaurant, unnoticed by both the chef and the waitress.

And today, she had gained valuable information. The new Queen, Neferu- or Eliza- was on the move. She was creating a concert, for reasons even the Egrets found themselves debating upon. Because she heard that they were going to announce this on radio, she had stolen one from a nearby house, and planted it near the sleeping Beowulf, where she rewired it to work at a certain time. But maybe because she had no dexterity with smaller, less sophisticated machinery than Lab 0's, or that there was a glitch, that the radio had come on much later. It was already seven, coincidentally. She had never planned for this, but from what she heard, it seemed to have worked out perfectly.

"Maybe It's time I left..." she monologued as she watched the jeep containing the two Dagonians started to roll away. But when she got ready to push herself off the wall, she heard a commotion from below.

It seemed that a wooden boat, rickety and old in appearance, had navigated the tidal waterways, and had just docked itself on the wooden bridge leading to Yu-Wan's restaurant, inciting a natural curiosity in one of the Egrets. He signaled the others to continue carrying out their tasks as he went to investigate. He peered down, only to be greeted by a large piece of cloth draped on top of any cargo it held. The individual was ready to stretch down and take it off, but a loud whistle caught him off-guard, and he took one step back.

But nothing happened.

Grumbling at the false alarm and the embarrassment of being chuckled at by two of the other Egrets in the distance, he took a step closer and stretched down once again, ready to pull off the cloth and investigate the whistleblower.

Then a flower pot fell on his head.

Immediately, the Egret was stunned by the cranial impact, and, with comical stars flying all over his head like a galaxy of them, the Egret stumbled, first backward, then forward, and at last he willingly fell with a large splash into the cold, shadowed water. The water jumped like snakes, before slithering between the barnacle-studded walls and bridge like wet paint.

Every other Egret had heard the splash, and were surprised of the sudden break of silence. Immediately, the two nearest to it dropped their patrol and came to investigate. The ones still inside the building had begun to peek outside, wondering of the cause of the commotion.

Upon looking down, the two Egrets found the unconscious unfortunate floating down the waterway, with swirls of ocular confusion in his visor. Of course, their first thought was that someone had knocked something from above- they had heard the pot break- but, upon inquiry, it seemed that no one had touched anything on the balcony. The two then turned back to the rather suspicious boat, and one reached down to pull off the drapes.

Then, a whistle blew.

It blew for a really long time.

The two were taken aback, and they tried covering their ears from the shrieking instrument. The Egrets peeking out from the restaurant suffered the same irritation, and pulled away to cover the same body organs that found themselves in the most pain. One of them swore that the window was rattling, as if trying to come out of its socket.

At this point, they wanted no more of it. The closest one lunged his hand towards the drapes, and he savagely tore it off. "WHO'S THERE!?" he yelled, ready and without hesitation to pull the intruder, or machine, out on to the floor.

"The chicken~" a robotic voice greeted him.

Then a steamroller landed on both their heads.

More specifically, it smashed through the bridge, carrying within its giant rollers the two unfortunate Egrets, creating gigantic waves that pushed the boat some distance away. The other Egrets, although not visible, had their mouths wide open, shocked. But more queerly, in this entire scene of perhaps otherworldly murder, was the little, overdressed bird sitting on the seat of the construction vehicle. It jumped off right before the behemoth-of-a-car hit the water, landing on the boat right before the waves carried it, and its contents, away.

"What the-?"

Unbeknownst to the two Egrets watching from the door, a person appeared from behind them, as if he- or she- jumped out of the floor, kicking one of them out and into the water, with a red boot. The other turned around, but he caught a cannonball to the stomach, flying out of the restaurant and crashing on the tiled road some distance away. The unfortunate swimmer had swam back up with the power of his lithe feet, and was subsequently pulled out and poked in the face two times with an overly large, gloved finger, pushing him like hanging, red meat being pushed by a butcher.

"Take me to your leader!" the individual's robotically static voice commanded, flapping the Egret around. The top of her hat then opened, and the same small bird came out, along with a double-barreled shotgun four times its size. It then shrieked the same words, before aiming the menacing, dark monocle at his face.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't shoot!"

"Say it!" both of the interrogators cried.

"Okay, okay! Bastet's Den! Just put me down!"

"And Woodwind?"

"Who?"

"Big guy!" cried the bird, "You lot took him in two nights ago!"

"I-I don't know! The jackal guy took him away! Don't shoot!"

Both of them seemed to roll their eyes and rear their heads, before the bird smacked the shotgun like a baseball on his head, knocking him unconscious, and allowing her to throw him into the water, where he came afloat with his stomach facing the sky. The moon's beautiful mirror rippled and tangoed with the waves, but it gave no joy, no entertainment to the celestial body above the clouds, instead horrifying it with a monstrous image of a broken dish. The view was then darkened by the girl when she jumped the gap, almost as if answering to the disgust of the moon.

"So..." the bird mused, "We gonna murderize that Queen, Peacock?"

Before answering to the parasite's question, the little Lab 8 product tipped her top hat up, before pulling out a small crystal from beneath. She then plopped it softly in her mouth, and started to chew ever so slowly on its brittle structure, tasting the sweet within it.

"Welp, that's all the rock candy," she chuckled before patting her hands, "Now, desperate times call for desperate desperateness. Let's do what we do best Avery: beat."

"Squawk!" Avery cried with war-like passion, "First rule of royalty: Everything's your fault!" Turning to the moonlit sky, it cried to those that weren't present, "Let's go, boys! The boss needs ta pop someone's cap off!"

Suddenly, in the distance, a rather preposterously catchy tune played, slowly escalating in volume. Then, a rather large, and almost plastic-looking car drifted through the street in front of them, nearly tipping as its rather arched back seemed to stretch with the momentum. It quickly gained control, tipped itself back down, and charged so fast at them that the inanimate object felt it appropriate to lean its entire body to the front, like a menacing lion ready to pounce, difference being that it already pounced, and it seemed to be stuck in one frame of animation like a computer model glitch. The glaring headlights forced open the curtain of night to reveal herself and Avery into the light, reflecting it on her metal bear-trap teeth. The car then skidded and stopped with its door right in front of Peacock, acting like jelly once again and bending over due to the momentum. It then snapped back, and the door opened on cue, allowing the girl to climb in with high, goofy steps.

A few sentient weapons hastily greeted her. "BOSS!" cried the anvil with joy. The others- a weight, and two bombs of drastically different sizes- said the same, although the two bombs waved, their lack of a mouth piece limiting them from speaking.

"Andy, Tommy!" said Avery, "Everyone's here! I thought one of you guys got wrecked when those Egrets came!"

"Don't worry," said Tommy, with a little grind to his teeth, "We're real deep in the Labs. They'll never find us now. And if they do, we'll beat em' to the pulp."

"You okay, boss? I mean, a few days ago, you looked ready to throw in the towel."

"Well," Peacock began, as she scooted to the driver's seat and placed her two gloved hands on the steering wheel, "Ben's more important than Annie, right now. Let's go, guys! Revenge is a dish served best with punch, especially my homemade specialty!"

"Yeah!"

"Let's go, boys!"

"We'll murderize her!"

...

...

"Uh, boss?"

"Yeah?"

"The car's not moving."

"I'm just thinking of where we're going..."

"Where are we going?"

"Some place called Bastet's Den. What 'bout it?"

"Oh, I know where it is! Uh... can I take the wheel, boss?"

"Soitenly~"

And so, the car burst to life, and it quickly exited the premise, away from Valentine's watchful eyes. The nurse was awestruck. She blinked twice, before snapping out of her trance.

"What just..." she muttered, before shaking her head, untangling herself from the webs of puzzlement. She groaned, rather frustrated by how she was unable to comprehend what just happened, before jumping off into a nearby building. It seemed, to her, that Lab Eight's experiment was out and about. She had learned of the eight Lab's destruction and of the new Queen's fear of the Lab's ability to create creatures and weapons meant to destroy the Skullgirl. There was a lot pen could learn in the span of two days, from eavesdropping upon patrolling Egrets speaking of their anger and hopelessness of the entire situation, and from listening to radio signals. She was prepared to do many things to help bring down the Queen, and maybe Brain Drain; and this new, rather odd group of misfits was there to do everything she needed to do.

"Well, Beowulf," she said as she hopped around the roofs, "It seems that your job's getting easier."


	7. Indivisible Promo

Ciao, everyone. It's been a long time since I've posted anything~. I've been studying for my LIFE-CHANGING EXAMS for the past months (even though I've technically been playing games most of my time, while only studying for a bit every day), but today I'm not here for an update on Skullgirls: BOB (oh Bob). Instead, I'm here to shamelessly advertise Lab Zero's new game: Indivisible!

*:D*

If you're annoyed that this is just a useless form of advertisement, then you may leave. I won't hold a grudge if you don't pay attention to this marvelous creation from the greatest indie company ever.

Lab Zero just recently began an Indiegogo campaign for funding the game. Their goal is ONE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS. I'm planning to give a hundred dollars myself (you know, because I got an authentic hundred dollar note as a gift… Yay my aunt), but you guys can all chip in for the game's eventual existence~.

Saddest thing I have to report is the amount of money donated. It's just reached 200K, and is increasing at a snail's pace, and so, because I love Lab Zero so much (even though I technically don't own Skullgirls- I played it for two hours while it was free), I'm here to create publicity, and hopefully spread the word to other people. The prototype- or alpha, if you like- has also been released, and you can download and play it for free, just to see if the game's up your alley! If it ain't, at least donate five dollars. It'll save lives~ (well, not human lives, but it'll perhaps create a worthwhile time for most).

I really don't want this campaign to fail. This is Lab Zero's second game, for Christ sake! All of you here should've seen how good Skullgirls is, so why not see it again in this new side-scroller RPG from the same company? For me, the graphics- all hand-drawn, mind you- are astounding. The character models are detailed and fluid in movement. Each character is unique, and, judging by uniqueness alone, all might have very discerning traits and personalities. The enemies are quirky and creative. The gameplay, although repetitive and offering no form of strategy, is great fun, and is evidently still in development. Well, I'm not here to spoil you all with details, so just go to the Indiegogo page or their website, or even twitter, to check it out!

To anyone who stumbles upon this chapter, I want you to spread the word! Through your friends, family, the internet; the world must know of this game's existence! Also, who's willing to give $20000?

*:D*

Don't worry guys, I'll return at the end of the year, hopefully with a new chapter. So bye~! Stay awesome!


	8. Welcome from Below

**Hello, guys! I'm back from my expedition to the Iron Kingdom- insert more Indivisible reference here. I gift you a new chapter, that I quickly wrote! I have to say, writing fanfiction is a fun way to exercise the mind during the holidays. Sorry for making you wait hundreds of years for this. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Any constructive criticism is welcomed. Help me point out spelling mistakes and the likes, okay? I hate it when I spot a mistake that has been lingering in my stories for perhaps years. Makes me look stupid :P**

* * *

Perhaps the best words- the heights of intellectual descriptions- for such an event as vulgarly packed as this would have been a silent expression of shock.

There was a time when Bastet's Den would house dozens. A nightclub as premium as the Gods, housing near a hundred would have not been surprising, seeing how the most popular of Canopy's divas resided behind the stage walls, plotting another song, or cleaning the blade known as her tongue for better resonance of her voice. The patrons of the club would never dare to speak ill of her, under the influence that her beauty would do no wrong. There is one thing to learn from these loyal dogs, though: one must never judge the skin, but the bad blood beneath. Because they should have known that following idols blindly would only bleed them of credibility. Especially with the Kingdom's new tyrant.

Even though such a cacophonous word as tyrant seemed to connote no love for any sort other than material wealth, she did have some semblance of charm with the floors of her beautiful stage, and this had attributed to her first orders as Queen. And now much of Maplecrest and its Dagonian population had been herded into the Den.

But this was not the same as before. No, it was much bigger. Perhaps its surface area had been increased nearly threefolds, but the copious amounts of space seemed unreasonable for such a squeeze that a few tens of thousands could have inflicted. Many of the Canopy Kingdom's denizens sat outside in the nightly gaze, closed off by a humongous ring of fencing. It was not easy to bring them all here, sure, but many had left, and the unlucky few were off to grimace over their sluggish nature. On every pylon of light, outlining the perimeter, was a speaker, just so every man and woman, baby and child, human and Dagonian, would hear their Queen's absolute. Numerous Black Egrets marched around, eyeing nervously for any conflict. The reasons why they did not allow any to escape quietly was a simple reason embedded into every soldier's heart.

Punishment. Massacre.

A fate akin to the Medicis.

And those that did request out, perhaps with voice or fist, quickly found the reason to keep quiet.

Within the shabby, rushed cementing and paint was a cocktail of people, served with a condiment of sprinkled sounds and odors. Hushed acceptances and small chatters of fearful doubt congested with harsh denials and loud arguments were abuzz. The cringing scent of fermented, lazing sweat and the half-parched linger of high-grade perfume mixed itself in the breaths inhaled by all.

With a large crowd of confused men and women, one may find an oddity of the absence of a coalition. Perhaps it was, again, the abundance of armed men, ordered against their will to fire amongst their citizens. Or was it the laying gargoyles amongst their roosts above everyone's heads? Within the cruddy elevated opera seats were giant rifles eyeing the crowd like crimson-eyed sentinels. But these snipers would never dare fire upon their Queen, no matter he circumstances or advantages from such a vantage. Number 13 had already done so, and no one would dare do the same for the rewards she reaped. Instead, they peered through their looking glasses, praying no resistance to stain their view.

This was not the same Bastet's Den so many remembered. This was an open wound carved to the ground by a sadist and her disdained compliances. A mockery of its once premium standards. Where were the tables? The chairs? The food? The handsome waiters and sexy waitresses? Now it was just a pool of little ants- a claustrophobia prison, too full for its own good.

But Eliza didn't mind.

In fact, she found it pleasing to see most of her subjects here. True, most of the Kingdom had refuged amongst the inferiors swines of the other lands, but it would not be long before everything she had planned would come together.

As she painted her lips a crimson red as bright as the blood she loved, adjusted the headdress of her Queenship and refined the sharp makeup complimenting the beauty of her face, she asked her guard dog waiting behind one of the props:

"How is our... 'instrument'?"

"Tuned and ready," Albus quickly replied.

"The speakers around the complex running?"

"Yes, boss."

"Egrets keeping the noise down?"

"They'd be last week's news, if they didn't."

Turning her chair around and standing upright, she exited her little room of pampering, before turning expectantly to the cocky jackal Dagonian.

"Good, everything's set. Has Horace called in yet?"

"Nope. Guess there's nothing to report from the Labs progress and whatever."

Eliza gave a knowing sigh. In her eyes, there was little excitement in the sciences, so what she had heard was to be expected. Gently taking hold of her golden mic stick beside her, she took her position behind the front curtains. The Egrets watching above on their metal walkways quickly complied to her instinctual request, and began to pull away the red drapes, slowly letting in a slice of spotlight. In time, she found not a trickle, but a waterfall of light bathing her.

She smiled. Triumph is best served sparkling.

* * *

There was an eerie quietness that homed in every back alley. A dreadful sense of buildup, as if some creature of the night would crawl from the nearest drain up into the light of the moon. That was what they felt. Slanting on the nearest wall available were three masked Egrets, ordered to stand at the back and stare down any that tried to enter backstage. The three had envisioned a prospect of not viewing the grief of the people, instead possibly a few angry men playing assassin, but, as time wore away the rising night, they found themselves in a tedious watch. Besides, what sane man would try such a stunt, knowing the full, albeit speculated, consequence.

"This is boring," the shortest Egret's muffled voice sighed, waking the other two from the monotonous boredom they also bore on his shoulder.

"Quiet, Skipper," replied the tallest, who began to stretch his entire body, "Does it look like we don't know? Besides, no one's gonna cause trouble."

They paused. The Egret in the middle scratched the back of his neck. The shortest began to tap his feet. The tallest turned to the sky.

Before long, the middleman muttered audibly, "Maybe we should go to the back and get that crazy monster in an ambush. We've got our guns with us."

"Did you even read what she did to the Medici?" replied the tallest with a tone of worry.

"She painted the whole building with 'em," the shortest continued, "Every one of the Medici's men either died or... were already dead before she came!"

"But nearly the entire Egret army is here. We should act now! The snipers-"

"Will share the same fact as 13?"

The middleman flinched mid-sentence. The shortest gulped, clearly shivering at the thought.

"Nobody even dares speak her name after what happened." Shifting his weight to slide down to the ground, the tallest sighed as he sat on the cement, before finishing his sentence with a meager murmur: "The best sniper- the Princess's sniper, is only bones now."

"Yeah... I remember yesterday..."

"Now that I think of it," the shortest spoke up, "Where did everyone else go? Nobody filled me on Adam."

"Dunno. Could be in that monster's prison."

"Molly?"

"Not dead, that's all I can say."

"Faust?"

"Serving the Queen. I'd say he's doing it to find a way to get the Princess out, but what am I to say."

"Roxie?"

The others kept tensely silent.

"Oh no..."

"She's not dead, man," the tallest snapped, "We just don't know her whereabouts right now."

The shortest quickly gave a sigh of relief, before the three resumed their silent bickering against idle activities. The waking night was calm; serene, even. A strange caress from nature and its will to comfort. The breeze, though, brought with it no fond memories, only the chills of the empty, faraway streets of Little Innsmouth and its expansive, alluring shoreline.

To them, their unwariness to the surroundings brought with it no ill effects, and that seemed quite true, seeing how every persons' mind was subjugated. In the forlorn shadows they saw nothing bearing its fangs against them, although that might be due to the fact that they were looking with the wrong interpretive sight; because, dwelling within the black shroud, a person slithered through their gaze.

Every moment they turned away from each other, the one within the dark picked off the hapless individuals. First the tallest, who had his mask quickly removed from above by a gloved hand, before being injected, in the neck, with some sedative-filled syringe and lifted into the air. Then the shortest, who had approached near a dark corridor with his back turned, had a tube stuffed into his helmet. Before he could retaliate, a gas filled his mask, and he quickly grew limp and collapsed into nature's shadowed embrace. The last one- shortest nor tallest- was knocked out by a small hammer blow to the head, before being pulled up.

And so the darkness fulfilled its appetite. The coastal breeze returned, though, noticing the absence of any colloquies, blew away to more grouping fare. And, as it had once been, the empty alleyway grew quiet, as if no events worth noting had occurred.

The echoes of clicking feet resonated. Someone was coming, and, once the person entered the solemn light, she revealed herself to be a young girl, of green, twin-braided hair. Dragging behind, with her grip on its ear, was a lifeless rabbit doll, and within its mouth a single, cyclops eye, perhaps coinciding with the eyepatch on the small individual.

"Hmm..." she hummed quietly after she noticed the lack of human activity, "No guards..." There was some hesitation with her future advances, but, as the silence grew too unbearable and reassuring, she quickened her pace, and stealthily entered the back door, into the building.

And Valentine watched from the safety of the high, rickety roof. There seemed no need to show herself now, so she saw the need to use the time to watch over them, and aid whenever necessary.

But then, taking into account the time it took to get here, where was that brat?

* * *

She heard it. The blaring of the microphone. Neferu was singing. Why was she singing?

Annie herself was more than prepared to lunge at anything in the dark. She had told herself time and time again during her's and Beowulf's race here to jolt away, or at, any sound that she would hear. But the singing, as loud as thunder for all to hear, seemed to deafen her. That was the least of her worries, though. Her entrance here was rather unobstructed, along with their entrance into the compound, but that was not to say what laid within. There must have been dozens of Egrets within, too afraid that disobedience would cost the lives of thousands. And she knew of their love for the Kingdom's citizens, innocent or guilty. She would not find aid in any of them, instead a hesitating intent to take her away to the dreaded monster that was Queen Neferu. Although, as she navigated the sacred actors' ground known as 'Backstage', she saw little presence around the area. It was empty, perhaps due to the influence of an assuring fear held on by the people. She had her job to do, and Beowulf had his. But he needed a moment where Neferu would be distracted. When that would happen, she did not know, but she did know one thing: she might have to be the cause of it.

She needed to stop her singing.

At first, she searched around for some instrument or machine creating the music. There was none. Then she looked around to see if she could find the wiring or controls for the speakers. No luck; it must have been placed somewhere else. At her wits end, she played on the idea of just busting in and attacking her, but, after only a few considerations, she dismissed the idea entirely. Such a crazy thought could be the end of her and everyone in the world. She grumbled silently as she slumped to the ground for a swift break, but, upon feeling the vibrations of the wooden floor on her palm, she quickly hid behind old props, and witnessed a dark jackal Dagonian enter her view, with a phone on his towering ear. The singing was subsiding into a low volume, as it coincided with a low note, so she could listen to the audible conversation between him and whoever was behind the phone.

"What'd you mean he wants more Egrets working on the Labs?"

The Labs? What Labs? And what os this 'work'?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell that doctor to wait for tomorrow. We've got our hands full 'ere. Not to say anyone's opposing the boss or anythin', but you get the deal... Ooh, nice; fully loaded by next week? I'll tell the boss later. So, about the girl in Lab-"

But, just before he could finish, the singing became drearily louder. So loud, in fact, that she quickly realized that all the low note had done was prepare for the most powerful breath. It was so high in operatic volume, in fact, that the jackal had to quickly exit through the back door just to continue his call, cutting her off from uncovering valuable information she and the wrestler at the moment had no clue about.

Annie sighed, with a free fingers in one ears. There seemed no way to stop the singing, other than wait till she stopped. Though, as Beowulf requested, there needed 'finesse' in his entrance and announcement, so such a lackluster move like entering while she was singing would have been a little rude. So she searched again, and tripped on a small raise in the wooden planks. She realized what it was, once the now-loose Sagan began to tug away at the camouflaging ring stuck to the wood.

A trapdoor.

She clasped her fist in triumph, flashed a smile, and reached for the handle. Silently, she entered, and found the place running deep beneath the establishment. The long, crooking stairway led her down to the floor, and she surveyed her surroundings.

Then, music.

The suavity of smooth, slick jazz emanated beautifully through the dimly lit basement. She held her breath, afraid that someone would have noticed her surprise. But there was no one there, other than the playing of woodwinds and the piano. She gulped her spit down. Now, with her senses in their most strained, she was cautious of her movements. Every step was as light as a feather, but the pressure for each one was as heavy as the wrestler himself on her, and he was VERY heavy. Then, on that very corner, obscured from her eyes, she turned her gaze.

Sagan blinked.

"Holy...!"

Towering above her was a humongous machine of a multitude of instruments. There was the brass piping of an organ, the humongous trombone body, a saxophone playing from the side, and many other instruments. In the front was a large, brown cloth, hiding perhaps other music-playing necessities from sight. But most surprising was the iron clasps around its many stands, chaining it to many balls of metal. No, now that she took a better look at it in the dim light, it was more likely a ball mixture of shiny steel and a black metal. Lead.

Excitement was welling within her, though. The accomplishment of finding the thing playing Neferu's music had fueled her with much eagerness to destroying it in one strong, fell swoop. She took her sword from her little fanny pack of infinite spaces, and readied an attack. Her shoes scraped on the rough cement as she got ready, and-

She froze.

It moved!

Or... was it her imagination?

Shaking her head, Annie began to set up her stance once again, and-

"What'd you want, Albus?"

Again, she froze.

I-it talked!

Reflex immediately seized control, and without thought she jumped away and landed some distance behind. Her heart was beating mad, and her breath was erratic. She was so shaken that even her eyes, the large pupils she had, shrunk from the fright, and the muscles around her body tensed, stretched from the fright.

"Albus?" it asked once again, in a very discerning accent. Annie, though, did not know how to answer. She was flabbergasted beyond belief.

Slowly, the music stopped. Neferu's small performance had ended, and, from the noise above, she had begun some sort of announcement section. With this break, the automaton-like entity turned its head around, and she realized that it was a human. A dark man, in some sort of breathing mask, looked towards her, so empty in his gaze that she thought he seemed robotically alive.

Then the face inflated.

"PFFT!" the man blew air, and maybe spit, from the shock of realizing another entity not in his mind's predictions, "Who- Where?! You're-!" Upon these first few words, he turned around, effortlessly pulling the heavy ball chains with him. So they were... useless?

"Annie? The girl from the television show?" the man asked.

She blinked once, then hesitantly answered, "Y-yeah." There was a familiar recognition that churned within her, and it did not take long for her to realize his associative figure and posture to one of the fighters that aided them during their raid in the church.

Annie noticed that man veered his sight to the blade on her hands. At first, he kept an awkward silence with her, before saying, "You the real deal, huh? The ones we met at the Trinity?"

She nodded. The lumbering giant turned away, stuck in a grim consideration, before looking back at her and saying, in a low voice, "You shouldn't be in here. Leave, or else-"

"No."

Her sudden cut lightly surprised the man, stopping his mouth from trailing off into explanation. There was a fiery determination within her one intact eye, and, as she stood up, he noticed a confidence in her step; faltering confidence, yes, but noteworthy nonetheless. A proposition of starting with small talk arose candidly within his mind.

"Maybe we should start this all over. Doesn't look like that dog's coming back anytime. Name's Ben, but you can call me Big Band."

"Well, Ben," Annie answered with some suspicion, "What are you? Were you affiliated with Neferu before we saw you at the Trinity church?"

"Neferu being the Queen, eh? No, they caught me in the act. Member of Lab Eight, Anti-Skullgirl weapon- well, ex-member."

"The Labs?" her eye began to shine with a childlike curiosity- but that could have been because of her child physique, "I thought they were disbanded."

"No. Lab Eight and Zero went rogue. Now's my turn to ask the questions: why're you down here? If you're trying to stop the music, then think again."

"So you're siding with her?" she hissed, suspicion molding slowly into aggression.

"If she finds that I stopped the music, then she ain't gonna punish me only. The entirety of the Kingdom's population-"

"What's left of it," she added.

Hearing this, Big Band groaned with disappointment. He quickly recovered, though, and continued, muttering, "What is left of the Canopy Kingdom's population is at stake. Nobody wants to rise up to her, and don't think I will. I've... lost everything. If she can get her hands on all the research in the Labs, she could be unstoppable. And from what I heard from Albus, they've got the nastiest man in Lab Zero to help them."

Then, he stopped, perhaps as courtesy to allow the child to absorb all the information he had spewed out. He expected no answer for some time; his past experience as a detective had bred a habitual silence, courting the opposing party to perhaps fight back, or collapse into a shattered mess on the floor, even though this time there was no confession he sought for the purpose of any shady case.

"How can you think that?"

Ben gave a light start at his defied expectations.

"Tens of thousands of people are trapped in her grasp! And all of them are here- isn't it a great time to rouse them?!"

"To fight against an impossible enemy?" he snapped back, "I think not."

"Then how'd you suggest we kick her off the throne?" she asked, teeth visibly clenched together.

"I... I don't know."

"Weren't you made to protect the people?"

"I was made to fight against the Skullgirl!" he yelled, taking one step and rearing above her like an erect tower. The chains behind him clashed together, echoing around the cavernous basement.

"But she did what the Labs took years to prepare to do! She defeated the Skullgirl- disposed of the Skull Heart like it was nothing. And don't forget the Medici. She killed every one of them in a matter of days! And subjugated the Royalty, along with forcing the Black Egrets down to their last knees. I don't know when she will stop, but I know this: she isn't satisfied with the Canopy Kingdom."

"But..." Annie hesitated in her words, but a suggestion quickly formed in her mind: "Why hasn't she killed everyone, then?"

 _What?_

 _What question is this?_

He was discombobulated by the odd circumstances that would bring about such inquiry. And though he had quickly hoped to lash back with a reasonable parry, he found that the words were stuck in his throat.

His eyes grew in disbelief.

That is quite true... why not? From what he heard from Albus, only a handful of the Kingdom's population had been killed by her. The Medici, most of the higher class that attended her coronation, and a small group of rebelling Egrets. There was also the fact that she had also closed down all access outside. The ports and roads were all closed by now, and communication to the outside should be, if he predicted correctly, near impossible, so... why? She seemed rather willing to ax anyone off, but the only massacre everyone knew off was her coronation, broadcasted Kingdom-wide. And everything else she did was to bring down opposition, while striking fear, but that would all amount to-

"You can't mean..."

"Yes," Annie nodded, "It was weird why she kept everyone alive. By her temper and attitude, you'd swear everyone should be dead, by now. But she needs them. Every one of them. She wants them to do something, so she'll never kill all of them: because she can't."

Such a hypothesis was debatably accurate, for the girl. During her and Beowulf's long journey to the Den, they struck a long conversation of Neferu's motives. The topic of why she kept so many people alive and, presumably caged in- that is, if she had closed off all access in and out- was brought up rather late into the conversation, and, with some quick thoughts, their last conclusion was such: she would dare not kill off all the people, because they had a purpose she dared not stop, and even if she did kill everyone, she needed a workforce, and stealing citizens from other Kingdoms was rather dumb, and out of the question.

"Beowulf's up there, Ben. He's going to try and get the people to rise against her."

"What if he fails? If he gets killed, then there's more fear instilled on the people."

Annie kept quiet, not confident of any argument against his own doubts. Big Band sighed, and turned away. There was another song by this point, and he had to do his job.

"So... you're still not going to help?" she finally asked, prompting him to glance back.

"I can judge the chances, and I don't like it at all."

She clicked her tongue in defeat, clenching her fist tighter with the strength of irritation. Counting on a hopeless soul would lead to nowhere, anyway.

"Then I need to-"

Before she could finish her threat, the room began to shake. A spark of a tremor, from above, took both their attentions to above. And above the scaffolding and wood, was an apparent scuffle of agitated growls and screams. The tremors began to come intermittently, as if to signal every strike.

Annie flinched. Beowulf's voice entered her ears, but she hadn't done anything yet. Had some stray opportunity appeared for his convenience? The fight was quick to quieten, but the announcement Beowulf promised to recite never came. Something was wrong.

"Hmm, doesn't look like it's working."

Annie, frozen by the shock, failed to answer, and her feet began to scuttle to the stairs, a flapping Sagan in tow.

"You really think you two can beat her?!"

"I've got to try!" Annie cried back, "And if you were brave enough, then you should too!"

Such a light insult only prodded the man's settled temper, but a quiet, cringing nostalgia within him began to ache. She would have said that, if she was here, but she must be miles away by now, perhaps picked up by scouting boats from the other Kingdoms, or something.

But before the two could move or speak, the small tremors began once again, and a new sound echoed into their ears. A car engine.

Wait, a car?

Then, a cry, and small explosions that rocked the dust off the walls. Annie was confused, unable to act in all the drowning thoughts within her mind. Big Band, on the other hand, stared, discombobulated, aghast. That voice-

"Peacock?"

* * *

Eliza loved the exposure. The lights, they were thick- so much so that she felt like swimming in it, bathing in the glory for perhaps a million or less to watch. Sad that so many left, but that was their own fear at work. Her singing had also not deteriorated at the least, but, at this point, no one would dare listen to her excellent voice. And all that stared at her had the essence of anxiety in their eyes. What was the fear here? They should be joyful that their new Queen was merciful. They should be very, very happy; so happy that they should be celebrating as she sang.

They were idiots, so it seemed. But perhaps in the next phase, these people could regain their dignity in her eyes.

Clicking her fingers, she summoned two hasty Egrets on to the stage, both hefting up a red bench. Compliantly, they set it to the stage floor, and quickly exited, allowing her the comfort of the seat.

"First law of my reign," she said, with a loud voice, into her microphone ornament, "Everyone is to donate one pint of blood every week, starting tomorrow!"

As her orders echoed through the premises, the chatter began to grow. Some screamed that it was 'preposterous', others sighing in relief, most happy that nothing dire was to affect them, yet.

"Second law! No one is to leave the Kingdom, ever!"

There was a collective shudder in the crowd.

"Third law... No..." she stopped. Placing a hand on her chin, she turned away, as if a deep thought had called for her audience. Her expression changed, twisted and stretched as the considerations entered her mind. "Ah, I'll tell you all later. You won't die if I don't, right?"

Just the scant mentioning of the word 'die' froze time. The breaths many held back stirred the air, rippled the tense mustiness. Even children, too young to consider such emotions as 'dread', began to cry at the subsiding of the commotion. The snipers above seemed consensual in the time they gulped with nervousness, and every active Egret showed their doubts in multitudes of ways.

Eliza grinned. They were 'scared' of her. How weak.

"How about we spice this up a bit?" she said with a flair of her tongue's seductive lashing. Immediately, she snapped her fingers once more, and one Egret from behind the red curtains entered, carrying a small wooden table of paper. After placing it beside her, he also clumsily procured a pen from his breast pocket, before setting it on the table and exiting stage right.

The advent of such simple materials shook the spirits of all around the room. One understands that a pen and paper holds immense power in the hands of certain individuals. For the Queen to have such items, along with all her subjects in attendance: what was she going to do? Write the names of those deemed dead? Or something much worse.

"Who wants my autograph?"

...

Everyone kept their tongues silent.

Perhaps the unexpected twist of the situation could have brought about outrage from the pressure inflicted, but the situation had gone dire so long ago. The pressure was still here, and no one could tell it to go away. Even such a simple request as what Eliza asked for, though amazingly easy in gaining favor from the totalitarian queen, was shunned by all. No one wanted to go, because no one wanted to die.

"Come on," she groaned, "I'm waiting. These are for a limited time only, and I'm wasting my time for all of you."

Still, no one came up.

She rolled her eyes to the side, and waited. Surely someone must be smart enough to present himself up here. But wait- what's this? In the distance, she could see some sort of commotion. Whatever it was, she found herself fixated at it. Perhaps there was an isolated discussion of the situation? As the time passed slowly, one person began to push away the crowd; drilled through the people as he made his way to the steps up a mountain. There, Eliza grinned once again. A brave representative, though feeble and weak nonetheless.

She took little consideration of the individual's face, instead focusing on pulling one white sheet out, and clicking the pen.

"You're a smart one, hmm?" she remarked, with a clear impressed expression on her face, "Maybe I'll be more gentle with you in the future. Your name?"

"Beowulf," the individual them slammed his foot on the bench, startling the Crimson Scourge, before adding, "And you'll be wearing a red mask!"

The astounding blast of a metallic slam filled the air, and Eliza was sent flying some distance away, sliding on the ground as if she had fallen on an ice rink. The crowd gave a simultaneous 'ooh' as they watched. Beowulf, on the other hand, with The Hurting hovering in front of him, had the largest, cockiest smile he had ever concocted on his face. The pride was so contagious, that some were awestruck by the sudden appearance of a hero of the war.

Catching the mic on his hand, Beowulf began his announcements in the loudest voice he could muster:

"HELLO, PEOPLE OF CANOPY-!" That was all he said before Eliza slapped him away with a wing of blood, causing him to drop the ornamental device on the ground. He quickly regained his footing, and pounced at the woman, only to be kicked in the face. She hissed with feral rage, and began to pummel the wrestler to the ground with her weapon. He resisted, yes, but his efforts were unfortunately futile. People gasped, cried and plead for his mercy as their old hero cringed in pain.

As soon as he appeared, he was but a captured dog in Eliza's eyes. Her hand slithered down, with a blood-like viscosity, and picked up the wrestler by the neck. Higher, and higher, she held him, till he was taller by a head. True, she was enraged by the lack of any fire from the soldiers above, but, beneath this anger, she found a small spark of joy with this silly man.

She chuckled, to the surprise of some. She was playing with his fur coat, feeling the individual hairs between her fingers- oh the familiarity. He was the same as before: headstrong and charmingly dumb. She examined his beaten state while remembering the silly memories of his habitual visits here; how he would barge in with a plethora of friends, how he would always order the same: chamomile, no sugar, and how he would always watch her sing. There was comfort in knowing that such a powerful man, in terms of media coverage, was so entranced with her beauty and singing, but the stench of sweat would have put her off multiple times, till she found him just a reek. There was relief once he stopped coming to relive the happy times he had in the Den, but she did feel lonely sometimes. This visit, though painful for a split second, was something she found nice.

"Where have you been this past few days, Beowulf?" she asked with a playful curiosity, behind it a deadly drumming of expectancy.

"W-well..." he huffed, groaning at the pain around his now-bleeding head, "Got off the air, Eliza. Or should I call you Neferu, now?"

"Hmm, that's my fault, dear. Sorry about that. Where's that girl, then?"

He groaned, but kept his mouth shut, only to receive a slight strangulation from the Queen. Instead of an answer, as she had imagined him giving, the wrestler did a kick to her chin, disorienting her, which caused her to let go of his neck. And with this, he landed on all fours, and pounced again, this time putting her on a clinch. But, with frightening speed, her body opened to reveal the skeletal parasite within, before it immediately began to dish out a barrage of scratches at his face. The sting caused him to grunt and throw the felid parasite away. As Sekhmet plopped perfectly into the casket of blood behind her, Beowulf hastily, albeit clumsily, recovered from the attack, and once again took a stance against her.

But, as the crowd began to expect a tense, bloody standoff of a one-sided chance, something else took their attention away. Even the two fighters turned away from one another, too curious as to the new commotion outside that begged full awareness and attention with its loud engine buzz and screaming voices of multiple characteristics.

"COMIN' THROUGH!"

A funky car immediately burst into view, and it seemed to be headed straight into the crowd, causing mayhem to those that expected to be in its way. But the panic amounted to little, as an explosion from beneath lifted the car into the air.

And just this once, it felt like a Michael Bay movie.

Both the fighters eyes were wide with astonishment. Well, that is to say Beowulf's, because Eliza's now-humongous pupils were staring right at the car's front. It was coming to her, and it wasn't stopping.

"YOU-!" she cried before the car slammed down on her, silencing her with the Scourge with its weight. After beating witness to this event, everyone had this to say:

"WHAT?!"

The drivers, all odd in their own ways, were still, to the amazement of the dumbfounded audience, chatting along as if nothing had happened.

"You know, guys: this map's broken!" yelled the orange-haired girl at the front seat, unfazed at the impact of the landing.

"Uh, you're holding it upside-down, boss," replied the anvil- wait, when did anvils talked?

"No way, Andy," she snapped back vehemently before donning a proud grin, "They don't call me the navigator of the Top Hat crew for nothin'!"

...

...

"Hey, aren't you one of those guys who came to that church?"

Immediately, the girl gasped, and jumped to his side, "Yup, yup! So where's da treasure? Annie with ya this time, too?" Her cooing brought with it unsettled glares from the people, and even those on the car seemed to develop the famous pleut- a sweat drop- similar to a cartoon.

Before he could answer, the crew hopped off the car, and the anvil from before quickly rushed to the wrestler.

"Beowulf!" he called with a friendly tone.

"Andy!" Beowulf replied back, "Where've you been? The match we would've had was going to be awesome! Well, that was until _someone_ came along."

"Yeah, let's have a math once we kick her butt!"

The two bumped fist, laughing merrily while the girl grumbled for her lack of answers. The face on the weight, though, asked, "Wait, isn't she below the car? She should be dead, right?"

"Naw, man," the girl answered with an irritated tone, "If she can take on da Skullgirl, she can take on a car."

"So... She unconscious?"

"Maybe..."

"..."

"..."

The two fighters were still merrily laughing along.

"Should we do something to her?"

"Well, we can-"

"Wait," as if on cue, the wrestler paused his conversation, and proceeded to pick up the dropped microphone on the floor before adding, with an eager smile, "I've got to do something."

Turning to the mass of stirring people, he took on a fancy pose and proclaimed, "HELLO, CANOPY!"

Everyone winced as his voice transmitted through the speakers many times its original volume. The girl inquired, in a low voice to her friends nearby, what he was doing, to which they shrugged, and continued watching. The mic gave a short screech, as if a voluntary pause. Immediately, he continued, even louder:

"IT'S BEOWULF HERE, AND I WANNA ASK YOU ONE QUESTION: ARE YOU REALLY JUST GONNA HIDE AT HOME, WHILE SHE GOES AROUND THINKING SHE'S THE BOSS?! CANOPOLIS? MAPLECREST? NEW MERIDIAN?! LITTLE INNSMOUTH!?"

At the last mention, a pair of hands raised and waved at the wrestler. The Dagonian, Minette, was within the crowd, calling to him. The people began to speak amongst themselves, asking of what he meant, why he said this; the risk, the reward; yes, or no?

Huffing a bull's burst of air, he continued, more intensely, "AREN'T YOU CANOPIANS?! SO WHAT ABOUT THE EGRETS ARE WORKING FOR HER?! WHAT ABOUT THE ROYAL FAMILY BEING HELD AT GUNPOINT?!- or something like that. WE ARE THE PEOPLE, WE ARE THE ONES IN CONTROL OF WHO IS ON THE SEAT, BECAUSE THIS IS THE WOLF PACK!"

At that point, many, moved by the passionate motivation of the wrestler, began to cheer, with some others immediately deploring the nonsense of the Queen. It was a mindset everyone quickly adopted: to rise and return the throne to the monarchy. Even the Black Egrets, though still hesitating to take action, began to be swayed by such a radical change in mood. The movement was swift- so fast that even Beowulf himself was surprised, but after being exposed to some amount of applause, he grew accustomed to it, and gave his signature howl to the people.

Canopy was now determined to fight back, and there was no option to stop.

"You...!"

Eliza's hollow, burning voice turned their attentions to the car. Hands, lined with sharp nails, appeared from the sides and effortlessly tossed away the hefty vehicle. Large chunks of her body were missing, squashed beneath the tires and piping, and her body seemed to literally boil with seething ferocity. The aura emitted from her was like a peal in everyone's mind, as the wrestler and intruders took their stance, and the citizens began to panic, and seek an exit.

The group quickly jumped towards her, and they began to send out a barrage of attacks. Eliza, though, began to twist, block and counter their strikes. Her movements were almost for the group to follow, as if she were stronger than them. Beowulf began to ooze cold sweat as he fought along. The power she emanated was crushing to his fighting spirit, and he dreaded the time when she would beat all of them. Where was Annie?

With one powerful sweep of her now-recovered microphone, she pushed the three- the anvil, the girl thing, and Beowulf- back. They panted, wheezed the air out of their lungs as the tire grew from fighting. Eliza frowned at their states. The 'weight with a face' was little trouble, and it withdrew quickly, but these three were more adamant in their fighting. Her celebratory concert was destroyed, and it was because of them.

"I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!"

Beowulf tensed. The girl clenched her serrated teeth, and the anvil tightened his fist.

But then, when it looked as if she would plunge headfirst into battle, the stage floor behind her broke, sending little splinters and large, fat planks into the air. A brown-clothed Titan rose from the ground, holding in front a giant bell. The Crimson Scourge had little time to react- only being able to turn and glance the brass corners of the bell- before it slammed down, trapping her within. And that was not the end of the ambush, as the titan equipped two large drumstick-like weapons from both sides of its body, before slamming them onto the bell, creating a deafening 'gong'. That would have disorientated the beast within.

To the surprise of Beowulf, Annie appeared behind its back, before she jumped down next to him with a floppy Sagan in tow.

"You did it!" she congratulated him with an enthusiastic voice.

"Y-yeah, of course the wolf's gonna win!"

"Woodwind!" the girl cried as she began to tear up, "I-I thought... I thought-"

"Patricia," the giant person reared to her and replied, with a mixture of relief and annoyance, "I told you to get away! You didn't listen!" She flinched away at the scolding, but noticed the slow mellowing in his eyes. "But thanks, anyway."

She brightened, but, taking into account the situation at hand, with the little ants fleeing from the humongous space, there seemed little time for them to escape. The bell was creaking, as if something was beginning to put pressure on it.

"NAKED BABIES!" she cried, immediately grabbing everyone's attention, "Good, you're all lookin'. Now how 'bout we get this show on the road!"

Beowulf and Annie quickly nodded in agreement, evidence by their triumphant smiles plastered neatly on their face- Beowulf's was a little battered, though.

Sagan, on the command of Annie's voice, quickly turned into a four-legged scooter, which she mounted on and drove through the curtains, to the back door. Beowulf, without transport, hastily flipped the doodled car, and, after some convincing, was allowed to drive away with the girl; there was some doubts about the availability of her driver's license, but the frantic cluster of noise from the people's screams and the cracking bell took his mind off the subject. The coat-wearing giant sprouted rocket exhausts below his body, blasted into the air, adjusted his directions, and then went crashing through the curtains, where the door was quickly destroyed by his gait, allowing the other two vehicles to exit without problems.

And with that, they were gone; ran into the night of an erupting world, their grins wide and lathered with victory.

Back at the Den, the bell, pained by the thrashing from within, broke in half, releasing the monster beneath. Eliza growled. The sight of so many fleeing Canopians enraged her, and, at the last straw, she pulled and scratched her hair, screamed, and lashed out her blood around. As they formed into fists, she, now demonic in physique, roared, "EVERYONE'S HERE IS DEAD!"

 _Bang!_

Eliza froze.

A throbbing pain stung her left arm. Turning to said direction, she found a large, red chunk of her blood body blown off. And she knew where it came from. Her head twisted to the sniper's roosts, and clenched her teeth so hard the muscles of her face seemed to turn blue.

Valentine smiled. She had never used such a high-caliber weapon before, but the push was truly pleasant, and the damage she dealt sent a wave of refreshment throughout her body. The echo silenced most of the noise around, but this enjoyable absence of the annoyance was short-lived. She had done her job, and, after quickly dismounting from the gun, she exited through the darkness. She had to say, though, that Beowulf's little performance was interestingly cliche, at best, but that was just the observing part of her mission. She was ready to let it all play out.

Eliza huffed as she readied another eruption of anger, but, before she could do so, another shot rang through the air, and struck her torso. Then another, and another. The snipers were against her now, and this rebellion was slowly veering the fears of the Egrets, as a few, brave enough to see the opportunistic situation, took arms and fired upon the Queen. And though the bullets were simply ineffective, they did stagger her and destroy much of her body.

But then, after some time, the firing subsided- slowed to a crawl- before stopping. They were not dead, or any such thing. No, they had quickly fled with the people, now coordinating the panicking crowd out of the compound. Eliza, once a Goddess of Fury, gawked in disbelief as her sight cleared up. The impossible image came into view: Bastet' Den was empty. Like a barren desert of empty promises, a hollow breeze from the open roof blew in, throwing a small hurricane of dust into the air as it surfed the curvature of the building.

Out from behind the curtains, the jackal Dagonian popped his head through the crevices of cloth, and, after gasping at the sight, he asked, "Okay...? What just happened...?"

* * *

"So, uh..." Beowulf spoke as the wind smacked his face, and the faces of the other few people speeding beside him, "Thanks for the help, guys."

The roads, deserted, began to flutter with light trash as the rocket flew by, followed by a car and a bunny scooter. The perfect structure and chance for a getaway, one would say, and it was true, seeing the rather lacking presence of an obstacle. The night was rumbling to life, under the advent of the sudden escape of thousands of people. Any pride was quickly out-shadowed with the overwhelming sense of excitement, and, if one looked closely, Beowulf was ready to pop with cheer.

They were revolutionary celebrities, metaphorically and literally, and he, along with the others, were pleased.

Before long, the girl leaned to the sides somewhat, and looked behind, perpetually frightening the wrestler and the child star behind them. She then introduced herself, without taking into account the road, "Name's Peacock! And you're SOOOOOOO KICKASS-!"

"HEY!" Beowulf exclaimed with fright as he grabbed on the wheel and turned, nearly flipping the car as it swerved near the curb on two wheels. "Pay attention to the road, will ya?"

"Hey, I was introducing myself to Annie, pal!" she snapped back.

"Patricia!" the rocket man sternly called, silencing the girl, "Now, Annie, where are we going?"

"Little Innsmouth," she answered, before pausing. "Uh, what was the name of Yu-Wan's restaurant, Beo?"

"Dak'kull Dubu," he answered, "Best tofu in town!"

Slowly, their speed increased as they raced away through the city. The large man in front slowed down, though, till he was beside Beowulf and Peacock's car. The wrestler, puzzled by this, turned to him and asked, "W-what's up?"

"Thought I hadn't introduced myself yet," he replied, before saying, "Name's Ben. You can call be Big Band."

"Well, Band," Beowulf began to grin as he pointed a fist at him, "Welcome to the party!"

Ben scoffed, before pulling out his own giant fist, bumping it with the wrestlers.

And with that, the three drove far, under the night's slumbering starry gaze.

* * *

Brain Drain was drooling. Well, that was a metaphorical image. He was excited; his intellectual prowess fueled by an otherworldly desire so strong his own head would throb at Mach speed- though, in scientific terms, that would be impossible, and deadly. His utterance of numerous mathematical formulae was rapid, so much so that many symbols and numbers were stuck congested in his mind, even though he always found himself most articulate of the subject of algebraic and arithmetical problems. But what was he watching that would've caused such a reaction within his cerebral capacities? What he saw as he peered through the one-sided window was a battle. Black Dahlia and his robot imbecile- he meant cat- attacking each other in a sparring match.

It was hard to convince the adamant assassin to fight back. His first subject, Painwheel had almost tried to kill her from the sheer annoyance of her ignorance. This second attempt, though, yielded great results. His Robo-Fortune was so irritating that it actually incurred her wrath, which, judging by his programming standards, was a hilarious failure, but, in these circumstances, it was annoying cat robot- which he himself could hear every word of her taunts- or nothing.

Just watching the battle had sparked a furor within the doctor, and he found himself seeing eye-to-eye with his own recording machines, watching every move. And although he had a dilemma with the recently-escaped ninja nurse, he couldn't care less, now that he was observing his test subject firsthand. He doubted his choice of siding with the Queen, but this... this was exhilarating.

When the battle ended, and Black Dahlia was left alone, Horace entered with a phone, recently switched off, on hand.

"What is it? Something from the Queen?" he asked, his voice ghastly and hollow.

"It's about Plan B," there, Brain Drain gave a subtle twitch, "Milady's concert was destroyed by some fools from the street. She wants your work done now."

"A week," he growled as he pushed aside the Dagonian and exited his laboratory. He signaled the falcon to follow him, and, after confirming his compliance, he led him to a room of archives. "My notes of the Queen's... other subjects are in here." Handing Horace a file, he added with a mutter, "Send it to her, if you must."

Horace, curious of the contents, promptly read the documents. His eyebrows raised, and he asked, suspiciously and carefully in his words, "The name... It's spelled wrong..."

"No, no, no!" Drain waves a hand, "Of course it is wrong. Because you were expecting her real name. This is her new name, after she is conquered by my new creation: an amalgam of two souls I found on the graveyard the other day..."

Far away, in the dark depths of Lab Eight, the machines creaked, smacked each other, and steamed from the stress of the works given to each individual part. The dusty laboratory was dim with a pulsating green light, elicited from deep below the building. Egrets, still unaware of the miracles of the outside world, continued their work, constructing whatever scientific doodads imposed upon them- but the first and foremost functioning item was a large cylindrical chamber in the middle of the room. And though it towered over every man and object, it held only viscous liquid and a suspended body, curled like a fetus and connected through the hair with wiring.

A stray bubble popped.

"Yes... I'll name this new specimen..."

 _Fukua_

And with that, he laughed.

Laughed away at the night.

Plan B was... was...

"Tsk, curse my inaptitude with vocabulary..."

"What?"

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. I had to rush a few parts, so some of the structures feel weird and messed up. Sorry about that... On the other news: Rate and review, pl0x... W-well, it's not like I w-wanted you to...**

 **I feel like I just found my inner Tsundere. Achievement get?**

* * *

 **P.S. To anonymous reviewer, who's review in no way qualifies as a review- though I have given the clear to some old 'questions' before-YOU WILL NEVER KNOW! Also, he asked: What happened to Filia...? Which is rather simple given all the hints presented. Or did you not play the game, stranger?**

 **Ten minutes later, I found out he was actually asking it in Chapter 6... Oh dear lord... I just lost one subscriber... Wait, is this youtu-**

 **Hello, my name is Essay King, I remember it so you don't have to~!**


	9. Encroaching The Soul

**First thing's first. I have SKULLGIRLS now! *:D* I am truly part of the SG community now. Love me, my worshippers! Kiss my feet! Other weird cultish stuff! Bleh.**

 **Sorry for the rather late update. I got a bit lazy. Also, I have my pet chickens to think about. Okay, okay, I know, you're all 'HUH?!' about it, but keeping chickens as pets is a lot more popular than you think. Seriously, they have forums for this, and websites selling chicken-related products, to keep your own chicken happy *;)*. Also, chickens are surprisingly cute, and funny. My rooster chased my bro around the house the other day, and that was heartrendingly hilarious... until my brother started to cry...**

 **Also, thanks, Mandrake for being so enthusiastic over my story's previous update. Also, I'm too lazy to look for you in Skull Heart, so eh. Sry, m8.**

 **Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter~! Nothing much, just plot development without HOT 2-D FIGHTING!**

* * *

One week.

Seven days.

Eliza regretted waiting so long, hiding above in her suite, awaiting for the end of such stupidity. And now even the Egrets were ready to kill her in her sleep.

Perhaps the threat of their Princess's life was waning.

To make matters more complicated, those 'revolutionary heroes', as she thought they were called, had disappeared, hidden away from her eyes. Brave fools that took it upon themselves to try and stop her. She would have commended them for their bravery, had it not been for the fact that they actually succeeded. And now, she found her inability to wrap her fingers around their necks just utterly would have been like losing a monster in a major city. How shameful of her.

And now, outside her beautiful, bloodstained tower, were groups of protesters. Nuisance, she called them. But she could not risk losing her potential workforce; no, all were valuable for her sadistic plans.

Some have left with the permission of those out of her reach and eyes- what a shame. Most, though, came back to fight against her. And now there were perhaps a million against her reign. She hated to admit it, but she was running out of time.

Perhaps that was why she now sat in her graffitied limo- courtesy of the street rats- driving hidden from the crowd. As she repelled those daring to try and attack her with her blood, she tested the extent of the mad doctor's progress in her mind. One week, he promised, and in her principles, all promises must never be delayed no matte the circumstances- but perhaps he was not done; perphaps the Egrets she sent to do all the thingshe needed had rebelled against him; maybe, in the best of cases, he had actually completed his work. She was expecting many things, but she had also stopped to consider on many other disappointing scenarios.

The journey was quick, as Albus had come to speed through the sleeping streets to the outskirts of town. Before long, she saw the glimpse of Lab Zero's watchtower shadow. From afar, the old factory seemed a shell of its former self, a skeletal husk of the once-living, now dead and rotting away. Her glare sharpened. She was not taking nonsense any longer. The fiasco was erupting into a flare, a signal to the other Kingdoms of her presence- and what is not to believe that these other countries have not forgotten her? Flattering, yes, but a danger to her position, nonetheless.

"Stop here," she commanded as they reached the gates. She exited, told her driver to wait, and turned to the silent beacon- the chimney. The sun was late in the sky, coating the stone in its iridescent orange.

A breezeless evening; a drowsy afternoon. How poetic.

Her hand slowly began to morph, and her crimson skin burst into view, twirling like a mad tornado before setting into a pair of gigantic arms. And with these newly-endowed limbs, she slammed the ground with their palms, launching herself into the air and, with deadly accuracy, into the rusting chimney-hole. Down she fell, her body sloshing round with bloody spectacle, and, like a ribbon dance, twisted round in three rivers of scarlet veils, following the parasite, Sekhmet, as she descended down into the ash cauldron, a semblance to surfing with the tides of a red sea. Her claws struck a bit of stars from the grating metal as she slowed the fall. And in this Red Sea, was the abyss of black absence. The light of the sky had gone, and a night casted around her. At the end of her freefall, she saw a few slices of light below- illumination that had cut itself through the gratings. Then, as the ground collided with her feet, she landed silently, as an anointment of dust and other small unwanted particles scattered down to her head, perhaps a blessing of encouragement against the doubts in her mind.

Quickly, she exited before clamping her luscious body back into place. Patting her shoulders, she groaned, "Ugh, no more iron for today..."

But, as she recovered from the momentous dusting, Eliza noticed the presence in front of her. There was the doctor himself, Brain Drain, standing stiff as if a statue greeting those that arrive through their gates. His shining eyes glared with a keen softness into hers, though there was no trace of affection to be had.

"Welcome, my... Queen." The first time he addressed her as this, he was as hesitant as quail to thunder. To see someone as superior to him was a blasphemy in and of itself, though a week of continuous monitoring from Eliza had familiarized him with the addressing.

Eliza, who hardened her glare, asked with a false enthusiasm, "How did you know I was here, Drain?"

"My surveillance cameras outside. I say, you made me run all the way here just so you won't fondle with any of my equipment-"

"' **State** ' equipment," she added harshly, contorting her face into a light snarl, "You better have results right now, 'doctor'," her last words she stressed with a bloody undertone.

"Yes, yes" he waved his hand, "Now, the testing with Black Dahlia have been a success..."

"And?"

"Well," he turned to his back, peering into the hallway he had rushed through, "You might have to see for yourself. Words will only decry what I have to show."

Upon saying this, Drain turned his body around and marched away, though his slow pace indicated to her an acknowledgement, a call to follow her. That, though, was not what she found anger in. Even though patience could have lessened the blow, the wait for what importance to her regime infuriated her to such an extent. But she digressed from the path of any rants, and instead bottled up her rage with the others, and tailed the doctor.

As they walked, the doctor began to monologue against the Queen's expectations, "Thanks to the availability of the other Labs, and the coordination of the Egrets under my command, I was successful in rebuilding much of everything. And all the 'state' equipment you brought to me, though mostly sabotaged, were quickly made applicable. All the production machines are automated, and those foolish Egrets have been evicted out of the Lab. With all those resources given to us, we were able to produce all these since last night."

In the distance, Eliza laid her eyes upon a metal door. The many bolting seemed to connote a strict silence of the material secrets to her, rousing her sleeping curiosity to a welcome excitement. After so many stressful days, there was a promise waiting for her, behind a door of grey eyes. And what the doctor had said- and perhaps withheld- had fueled the growing impatience within her; it was no surprise that she had begun to verbally demand Drain for more to sate the desire clawing at her excited sanity.

"Brain, do tell me more?"

"No, no, it'll ruin what you commoners call 'a surprise'."

Eliza rolled her eyes. Such a common excuse, so overused that even she found annoyance for hearing it too many times.

They stopped. In front of her was the door, in its entirity of stainless, grayscaled marvel. Now that she was so close to it, she could smell the tempering in the ferrous platings. And though she should have been overjoyed over such a promising reveal, the excitement seemed to whittle away ever so slightly. Like a dirty box, visually lacking- in terms of hygiene- but perhaps holding the mother of all collectibles hidden within. She was hoping for that. Her expectations, once controlled, now began to run rampant. She could still contain the ecstasy within, but what she might see was beyond whatever imagination she had.

"You have the honors," said Drain as he pointed to a succulent red button at the side wall, "Your Highness."

Her painted eyes flashed a surprised expression, but quickly she tore that off, and replaced it with a triumphant grin. Her hand reached for the button, and, as it touched the smooth plastic, sending pleasing signals of static, she wondered of the changes that were to come.

 _No harm done, hmm?_

She pressed it.

As the door opened, she waited, peered enthusiastically as it split like the seas. The darkness behind seemed to spill out and empty the room, though its residue casted a shadow.

No lights.

But she could see red within. Hundreds of red diodes beneath the darkness. The beams covered her body like a film, entrapping the colors below with the striking scarlet. They were like spotlights, bloodied but working, and shining all her good spots.

She smiled.

They were ready.

* * *

Dak'kull Dubu was where anyone could get the best tofu around Little Innsmouth. Sitting silently above the tides, in the middle of a busy street: this was where many went for good tofu. Not 'lunch'. Not 'dinner'. Just 'tofu'. Because tofu encompassed all hours. Tofu is love, but is it life? Let Dak'kull Dubu teach you that.

But not today. Not these twenty-four hours. And though many were disappointed, just the mere screams from within would have repelled anyone from entering to learn the secrets of tofu.

" **AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH**!"

The blood-curdling scream seemed to echo through the thinning street, and, coupled with the knocking wooden tables and chairs, the crashing glass and slashing air, it was a reason for no sane man to enter. Chaos was ensuing, but not because of Eliza and her schemes. This was... more natural. Like the descent of health in one's wayward years.

"PUSH HER DOWN!"

The doctors' efforts, fruitless as time seeps into every crevice, eroding the once-beautiful establishment into a crumble.

"HOLY-! Nearly got me, there!"

And through the panic, only a few dare to tackle such a case so extreme.

Though, in this case, Beowulf had taken it too literally.

"OKAY," he cried to those beside him, as he tackled Peacoc to the ground, pulling the erratic girl into a gentle, but firm wrestling hold, "I GOT HER!"

But after the tenseness subsided at the sight of the success, the girl began to twitch rapidly, before stabbing the wrestler on his arm with the eyes on her own. He quickly flinched away, allowing Peacock to flap around with a sword in-hand, destroying any nearby furniture with uncontrollable swings. The splinters flew like firecracker sparkles.

Utter chaos.

Hidden behind the covers of the counter were the two Dagonians, Yu-Wan and Minette. They both shuddered as the sounds of breaking glass resonated into their ears. The precious cups and windows, now gone down the drain. Their lives though, were another question altogether.

"What's happening to her!" exclaimed the older Dagonian in the heat of the confusion. And though he cried out as if asking everyone within the store, they all knew that it was Big Band he was questioning, for they knew after this one week that the giant knew more about her than perhaps they knew about themselves.

"I NEED A CLOSER-" he paused as a table leg smashed on his body, but, with quick recovery, finished, "-LOOK!"

Annie, who had begun to circle around the maniac human weapon, quickly threw her parasite Sagan at the girl's hat. With open arms, the parasite successfully grabbed the top hat, before weakly wrestling it on the ground. And though that was not really its true interest, it at least brought Avery out of the hat. This Avery, though, was not the same. She was wild, insane even, holding a knife that she used blindly in front of her. But, with this open ground, Ben found the opportunity to quickly scoop her on his miniature clipper hands.

With a quick observation, the giant gave a start, and, in the clatter of wood and glass, he gravely muttered, "Oh no..." He was, though, abruptly cut off from his train of thought by a sudden laser blast from her eyes. I' not blaming him; everyone had 'hit the deck' the moment she fired. With Avery firmly trapped in his hand, he said to the others, "We need to get her to calm down! If she goes on a rampage any minute more, we might lose her!"

Those words quickly spooked, but also invigorated the duo, hiding behind an overturned table, as they set their eyes on Peacock with a new resolve. The hint of confusion permeating their ocular organs failed to dissipate, though, as they continued asking the question: what was happening to her?

Before long, and with much struggle, the group had pinned her down to the ground. Never mind Band's tremendous body, the weight of a wrestler AND a child hero- compensated by a light bunny parasite- were on top of her. She pulled and pushed, twisted and turned, but to no avail- she was practically immobilized.

"Big guy," addressed Beowulf in a panting voice as he turned to Ben, "What's goin' on?"

Big Band hesitated somewhat, before disclosing whatever he knew about her condition. "Soul Contamination. Only happens to those with more than two parasites."

"So," the wrestler said, "A day or partying and six days of relaxation did this?"

"No, she needs to eat something, or at least absorb it into her body, to stabilize her condition... I knew this would happen at any moment..."

"Well, we have been feeding her tofu..."

"Now is not the time to joke around, Beowulf," he snapped, surprising the wrestler and the child with his stern change of demeanor. The giant turned to the counter, where the Dagonians hid, and asked gravely, "You don't perhaps have any Theonite, do you?"

"Theonite?" asked Minette, raising an eyebrow as she popped her head into view.

"Sorry," apologized Yu Wan as he peeked out from the side, "We aren't a night bar."

Big Band clicked his tongue anxiously, before turning back to his comrade. What did he expect? Theonite was not something sold in markets for the public to see- of course no one would have any knowledge regarding the rare mineral only sold within dark streets. But forget that topic. Now that he was so close to her during this state of frenzy, he could see the dark tendrils insidiously crawling beneath her neck. Her orange hair was also dulling into a rust-like complexion, signs of the slow takeover of a corrupting force brought upon unintentionally by their creators. The hard truth was not that she might disappear into madness, but how he was unable to do anything. Ben clenched his eyelids together; the frustration of never noticing her degradation was too stupid of him.

But as he swelled in his short grief, Peacock spoke:

"W-Woodwind..."

"Peacock?" he replied with a tone of shock, "Are you okay? Do you have any more of the doc's 'rock candy'?"

"I-I feel like I need a b-bedazzling..." her voice was weak, feeble, as if her throat would rot away if she spoke any more, "I d-don't got no more s-sugar. W-what's happening to me...?"

He quickly shushed the girl, and muttered in a comforting voice, "Don't worry about it. You just need some sleep."

Annie could see the angst, the aching worry within his voice, and she, affected by the dread, bit her lower lip hard, tightening her grip on Peacock's arm in the process. Unable to calm her tongue and curiosity, she spoke with a careful tone, "Theonite? They are associated with Parasites, right?"

"How'd you know that?" Beowulf asked, as he raised an eyebrow with a hurried puzzlement, trying his best to pin a newly revived flailing arm while piecing the puzzle together.

"Beo, I've been here for hundreds of years. What'd you expect?" Then, turning to Ben, she asked with a keen tone, "Where do we get it?" Her question for 'why?' was something she had dismissed quite quickly; the uncanny pairing of the two topics had already told her much about the situation.

"Black Market," this statement garnered him dubious looks, as expected, though he quickly staved them off and continued, "Well, there are some legal suppliers, but they need a lot of clearance and documents. Lab Eight ain't giving that out. I'll think no one's at those markets by now; ran for their money's worth, I bet."

Beowulf was stunned; his comprehension of illegal economics had slowed his grasp on what the giant had stated, though after he truly did understand, he was ready- somewhat eager, even- to point out the blatant criminal background. Before he could, though, Annie had spoken rather quickly- perhaps on the suspicions that she knew what silly statement would come if she didn't, "Does this always happen?"

"Not really, but the doctor predicted that she would destabilize one day. A few doses of Theonite would quickly fix that, but we don't have any."

"M-maybe we should get her to sleep."

"Agreed." Before anyone could respond, Ben laid both his giant brass hands on Peacock's arm, and carried her twitching body upstairs, grip secure on the Anti-Skullgirl weapon's two parasitic limbs. Sagan followed, carrying with it Avery, who still thrashed around weaponless. The group watched in silence, though as he left, Beowulf gave a deep sigh, followed by Yu Wan's fervid worry for his beaten store.

"Man, and I thought it was over- now someone's gonna go crazy..." he muttered to his child comrade.

"MY TABLES ARE ALL WRECKED!"

"Yeah, and it doesn't look like Neferu's getting fired anytime," replied Annie solemnly, with a hand on her chin.

"A-AND MY PORCELAIN BOWLS! THEY'VE BEEN WITH ME FOR YEARS!"

"You know... I don't feel good thinking that our friends are gonna die..." Annie nodded in agreement.

"All the things we've learnt from them in this past week... We need to help them, Beowulf, but how?"

"MY WINDOWS! ..." Yu Wan paused, much to the two's curiosity, as they turned around and witnessed the Dagonian March away to his kitchen, leaving the waitress to her broom and other tools.

"Eh, I'll do the math later... I've got tofu on the stove."

* * *

Time quickly fled by.

And before they could sense it, it was cold.

Cold the coming night was as the sun tucked itself into its earthly blanket and the moon rose to take its place. Whilst the tides rose with the orb in the sky, and the heavenly lights shone through, the group sat within the humble cafe, taking careful sips from their glue-repaired cups. A single hanging bulb flickered awake. There was Beowulf, playing with his food, Big Band taking off his masks in moments when he needed hydration... and that was it. Minette was gone, returned home for the night, so the aspect of liveliness had quietened. Strange that she did not leave with her sisters, but perhaps the patriotic view to the store had fueled her to stay. Yu Wan had retired for the day, although in a more specific context he had been outside all day searching for any furnishing, though, judging by the time spent not returning with said furniture, the hypothesis of a day's retirement was a consideration, judging by the present. Annie resided on the second floor, perhaps exchanging stories of her life with the weapon above; an admirable activity she partook in for some days, yes, though it had other purposes tonight.

"So how's she?" Beowulf asked as he clawed his tofu with his pronged utensil, "You've been up there for hours."

Ben hesitated for some seconds, doubtful of the translation of his experience. He had seen much above, and communicating with a withering person was an uneasy experience even for the seasoned detective. With one lone sip, he replied, "She won't last another day. We need Theonite now."

"Heh..." the wrestler gave a lone chuckle, "Don't be so uptight. We'll get 'em rocks later. Pack's duty."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's a promise, man. Calm down, we'll fix this tomorrow."

Ben raised an eyebrow, and he gave a solemn nod before the unwonted silence spoke again.

It can be said that time flew by in these last few days. The Canopians were rising against their dictatorial ruler, and all seemed to be going strongly against her- the many times they tried to raid the Medici Tower was a testament upon itself. It felt nice to see those inspired to rise up. But perhaps there was a certain danger to it, one that had seemed to disappear after so many days of idle activity from the monster on the throne. Perhaps Neferu would impose her own form of jingoism? She would hunt them down, and maybe kill them in front of the eyes of the people? Those possibilities lingered in their minds for some time, but they never came. She never took the city under any form of self-inflicted danger, nor did she go on a public manhunt against them. They were happy, yes, for such things that once plagued their minds to go away, but it was not a question of 'did we do it?', but 'what is she up to?'.

But that was Big Band's take on the entire thing.

Beowulf, of course, was more light-hearted on the matter. He had done what he needed to do, and he was content with it. Throughout the week, he elicited no worries, but donned an enthusiastic mood regarding his actions and the coming events, though in truth he did come to brood over the potential dangers of waiting.

Neferu was still here, perhaps not seen by anyone other than the threatened Black Egrets as their ruler, at this point, and no other Kingdom had taken any initiative to restore their rule. Valuable time was being wasted. There were discussions focusing on the Princess and her sister, but nobody had taken it that far; the excuse that she would be saved by her loyal Egrets was a powerful argument.

So to them, it was not the past Monarchy, it was more of who was in charge now. Perhaps they could try and save her, but details of where she was were scarce. Yes, the two were at a prison, but the Kingdom was vast, and of course had multiple facilities of that nature. Perhaps they were below the Tower? Used by the Queen for her own sadistic desires?

Then there was Peacock, too...

As Beowulf sighed below, the two children- Annie was a debatable exception- above were sharing stories of their lives with each other; Annie, in many respects, had the edge in how many she could recite. But today was a bit different: Peacock did not speak. Not to say she became mute, or had an irritation in the throat, but more of that she was supposed to rest, while the child hero recalled epic stories of adventures and other bouts of awesomeness, as the orange-haired weapon said. It was pleasant to the two though, but, while Peacock seemed to be enjoying her time with her idol, Annie was silently counting the seconds away.

"And then," Annie declared enthusiastically as she stood up from her seat, and spread her arms into the air in an illustrating fashion in front of the child in the pristine, new sleeping bag, "Our group realized that we weren't fighting some final boss, we were fighting this immortal entity thing."

Peacock's eye sockets visibly widened in awe. In a hoarse voice, she asked meekly, "W-what happened n-next?"

Though the time has brought them some joy, that question quickly shattered Annie's enjoyment, and made her flinch in a subconscious sense of surprise. Perhaps it was the fear that the next few words would excite the weapon to the brim, she did not know, but her instincts had begun to shake her aware of the raven roots crawling through the child's neck, up to the edge of her cheek. Quickly, she regained her demeanor, and continued, albeit in a more mellow tone than how she would have told it to, say, Beowulf, "Well, after a long time, we did it. We found its weakness, it died, and our band of- what- more than 30 people? celebrated. It was... nice, I'd give it that." At her last few words, she sat back down on to her seat: a wooden stool untouched and hiding above in the hilariously large store room that could somehow fit all of them within.

"Wow... That w-was good..."

"Heh," Annie snickered lightly, "It's a story not recorded in this world's history. And you're the..." Annie began to count her fingers, "One... Um... First person to hear it, I guess?" The counting was a ruse, though, to keep Peacock content. She never reached two, because the first one to hear it was Beowulf himself. A week of seeing a coworker can lead to many exchanges.

"Really? W-well, cowabunga-" Peacock was quickly cut off by her own coughing fit, surprising the girl beside her nearly enough to knock the chair back. The weapon needed on assistance, though, as she swiftly recovered, and laid back to bed.

"You okay?" Annie asked.

Peacock turned her head to her in reply, and then muttered, "I-I need a drink. Or s-some Eggnog..."

"Yeah, sure-" Then, she froze. It was like a jolt of electricity into her arms: as she got up from her seat, Peacock's now rusting parasitic arms latched themselves around her wrist, and she raised her voice and exclaimed in a groggy fashion:

"L-let me tell you the time I w-went into a saloon, and s-saw a truck drinkin' gas at the bar~!"

The child hero froze. Her mind only had only this to ask: _What_? This new behavior stunned her beyond disbelief, and she stood half-seating down gawking as her friend mumbled other incoherently incomprehensible stories like a drunk at a campfire. Was this a new stage of Soul Contamination; a breakdown of her sanity, inflicting some sort of delusional state?

Was she going to attack?

Annie gulped, as a bead of sweat flowed down her face. Her sword was some distance away, but, with Peacock's hand around her arm, she felt threatened to even move an inch, lest it agitated the girl's corrupting brain inducing her into a wild fury. And calling for the others was a dangerous bet.

"Oh, l-let me tell you about the m-merry-go-round I went on t-the other day~!" She droned, voice slowly deepening with every sentence she uttered. Her grip also seemed to tighten, ever so slowly and softly that Annie had sworn it was just her nerves playing with her.

Pursing her lips in consideration and hesitation, she began to speak to her quietly, in the hopes to calm her down. Her pursed lips began to part, and she asked, "Are you... okay?"

"NAW!" she yelled with a drunkard's attitude, "And I a-ask myself who's t-that in da sky?"

"Uh, Annie, you should l-let go..." She tugged at her last two words, prompting the girl to tighten her grip.

"Come on, Anne of G-Green whatchamacallit, I'm your b-biggest fan~ Better g-gimme da syrup~!" Strangely enough, it seemed like the girl had actually wanted to seduce the child hero, though any body-shaking was replaced with an uncomfortably odd wiggling within the entire sleeping bag, almost like that of a worm. The eyes on her arm seemed to stare into Annie's soul with a seductive gaze, almost disgusting her, though not in the way any woman would have to some strange man in the alleyway- with such an agenda from the now-mad girl, it seemed unlikely that she would, or even could, let go. Her grip also seemed to change to an odd mechanism where her thumb stroked her arm creepily, as her other fingers pokes into her flesh in a playful fashion.

As she began to doubt her ability to escape, Annie remembered her parasite, which was also in the room. Just some distance away, sitting limp below a caged, sleeping Avery, was Sagan, whose single eye began to blink awake into full attendance.

 _Sagan_ , she mouthed without any utterance, _Call the others_!

The doll, unsurprisingly, sprung awake, and began to toddle towards the door. After it exited from her view, there was a distinct sound of the doll-parasite falling down the stairs in clumsy step. That should have gotten their attention.

"Ernie..." Peacock spoke up once again, prompting Annie to turn towards her. Though, arguable, she was not expecting the weapon's face right in front of hers.

"Let me ask y-you," her grin grew as she spoke, her metal bear trap teeth reflecting Annie's face menacingly, "Anybody got any cheese?"

By instincts alone, Annie shot her head to the side. And in that instant, she missed being crushed by the entrapping teeth. Quickly, she tried to tug herself free, but Peacock's grip tightened like iron vices, till she was unable to set herself free. Sensing another attack, she dodged, but lost balance and fell, pivoted by the Anti-Skullgirl weapon's grip.

"GUYS!" she tried to call for the others, but, before she could continue, Peacock came on top of her, still enveloped nicely into a scroll by her sleeping bag. And though Annie could have, with some effort, pushed her away, the sleeping bag was unnaturally heavy for the child, so much so that she was the one pinned down.

"P-Peacock..." she muttered, the air in her lungs pushed out by the weight, "Listen to me-!"

"YOU LISTEN!" the girl screamed as another hand grasped Annie's neck. The tendrils, once behind her cheek, visibly began to bore through her face, till it nearly enveloping her eyes, "I AM THE MOST FIENDISH TERROR THAT WALKS IN THE DARKEST NIGHT! I AM THE CHICKEN THAT WAKES YOU UP EVERY FOUR A.M. WHILE YOU SLEEP! I AM-"

She was then promptly lifted off from the girl.

"Peacock, calm down," cried Big Band, as he held the girl by her sleeping bag. Beowulf poked his head out from behind, and, noticing the child hero on the floor, he clumsily pushed through the man's humongous body to assess her condition, all while Peacock squirmed madly within the confines of her portable bedding. Sagan followed suite, before toddling with the wrestler to her position. She heard him ask if she was okay, but her dazed state seemed to pull her from focusing on his question. Instead, she pushed herself up with the wrestler's lowered shoulder, and stood weakly, with her strength quickly returning.

"She..." Annie panted as she set her eyes on the insane, restrained child, "W-we need to do something..."

"I know!" He snapped at the girl, but quickly took a step back, equally surprised by the outburst. He sighed, and took his eyes away from them, muttering feebly, "I know..."

Ben groaned weakly as a small prosthetic-like hand appeared from his coat to aid him in massaging the top of his forehead.

The impending chaos was over, thank the Trinity, but the agonizing sense of what was to come shook his confidence down to its base. With this slow degradation, came the sights of torturous experience. She would 'die', sell her soul to insanity, and he could do nothing but wonder if she could recover; she would unfortunately not, though, without the elusive mineral. A sickness one cannot shake off. The last remnants of his 'family' were, at best, tiptoeing slowly to her death.

There was a stark contrast with his grief to the death of Lab 8 and her own encroaching fate. He had much hope that his home would stand. But it had fallen, like a castle under siege. He hoped she would live to see the day of liberation; now, he strongly doubted that. His newfound allies gave little shelter to his declining hope. Perhaps they both would share empathy with him, lest they truly cure her, but that was a question of the future. Now was now. But 'now' was where he could see his last remaining piece of family rot away.

"If only..."

If only, indeed.

"You know what?" Beowulf suddenly spoke, "I ain't staying here any longer."

"What?" Annie raised an eyebrow, "What'd you mean?"

"Well, I can't stand this crap anymore- I'll go look for this 'Thursday Night' thing myself!"

Ignoring the dumb malapropism, Annie and Big Band found themselves shocked by this bold declaration. His considerate mindset struck a favorable chord within both their minds; though, as they watched him boldly flee the scene, they quickly snapped out of their state of disbelief to angrily call him back.

"Okay, okay, I'm back- sheesh," said Beowulf as he clumsily strolled in. "So what now?"

"Well... No idea," shrugged Annie, who hanged her head low in self-conscious shame, "I've never looked for the stuff before."

"Then," he turned to Ben, "D'you remember any place with it, big guy?"

That was a question he found difficulty answering. Lab 8 never had hidden stockpiles outside the premise- most were stored in the Lab itself- but perhaps the other abandoned Labs had a few untouched samples. Lab 6 seemed the most reasonable, as they researched on Theonite itself, so there should be some leftovers missed out. The possibility of Neferu's Black Egrets being stationed at every Lab unnerved him, along with her alliance with the only operational Lab right now being a threat. He had heard accounts from Avian about this 'Brain Drain's' behavior, and he was unsettled by whatever he had heard.

"We could..." there was an initial second thought concerning this foreign proposal, but, weighing the options now, there was no choice he was willing to take. He looked to Patricia, as if wanting an answer from her. All she did was snarl and cry out one-liners like a snarky villain; that, to him, was enough to convince him to carry on.

"No... We **are** taking Lab Eight back."

* * *

Hello? You on?

Yes, what is it? You are wasting my precious time, and my time is more valuable than you feeble weaklings.

Are you ready to- hmm- reveal them, yet? I thought programming them was faster than putting on makeup.

That sounds stupid... Some are guarding your... other subject, and they seem to be functioning far better than I expected. Issue the command, and it will be done.

Good. I hope your factories are stocked and running.

Why is that?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you just made a... replacement for everyone.

Heh, funny. Get ready, though. Your new bodyguards are coming.

I'll be waiting.

* * *

 **This chapter was supposed to be longer. It would actually encompass them going to Lab Eight, and stuff. It would've been cool! And awesome! And (insert synonyms for 'cool' and 'awesome' here)! I got a bit carried away by Peacock's slow degradation into insanity. Lab Zero never really talked about the effects of Soul Contamination, so I played with it, and in the context of the story, it degrades the mind, causing some insanity issues, before finally destroying the soul, where you technically die, but are still technically alive. It's complicated, I know.**

 **There's also the issue of what happened in these seven days? Did they really just relax? They must be really dumb, or scared to go , that was an issue I had while writing, but I settled on them hiding from Eliza. Not the best reason, but what else could I use without affecting the story?**

 **Other than that, thanks for reading! Review, pl0x~!**

 **P.S. To Mandrake, thanks for pointing out any spelling errors, though I did remember checking for them. I'll check again if needed, and, really, if I could pay you, I'd do it if you pointed out which word and where, but I won't make you waste your time counting what line it is and what word it is. I also have no words to say that can justify such stupidity. This is what happened when you haven't written for a prolonged period of time... Funny thing was that I had to re-read my fanfiction just to jolt my memory of all the little things going around in the background, AFTER writing this chapter. Yeah, I did have a plot line for this, but I guess I got carried away with lots of things, and left a lot of plot holes as a result. So now I will tell you what I thought was happening without giving spoilers for future chapters: Soul Contamination is still quite unknown- to my knowledge- in the Skullgirls community, so this is my own take on it. Peacock is just losing sanity and control over her emotions and what said emotions make her say. Valentine is still debating whether to show herself, or continue being out of it- she's secretly doing reconnaissance of the rebellion and the Egret's movement for her own purposes. Big Band and Peacock do look like some sort of threat, seeing how they should know her and her recent exploits and affiliations with Brain Drain. And, yeah, the prison below the Medici tower part was a rushed idea. I would have thought the Medici had some sort of basement to at least hold and interrogate those of interest, but perhaps writing it to seem like there is a humongous prison below is a stretch by itself. Just think that it's some dark part of a basement, and I think you'll be fine with brushing that nitpick aside.**


	10. Batting Into Hell

**Hello everybody~! Sorry for the long delay, but this chapter was too long to be true.**

 **This was, surprisingly, three times longer than I expected. While writing the 'first version' I had to delete off a large chunk because it did not flow well, and, well, that act resulted in this overblown monster of a chapter. Trying to set a good atmosphere was still impossible for me, somehow, and trying to grasp the chapter's movement was also hard. I think the hardest was trying to perfect the character's actions and personality based on the source material, with Valentine being the hardest, as I haven't played her story yet.**

 **Other than that, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Valentine cursed the unnatural dread she held, as she slammed her back as gently as she could to the cold steel. Within her spot of concealment, she unconsciously noted her overuse of such small spaces, such as this vent she hid within- consequences from escaping whatever danger that could have instilled such raw shuddering from her person. Her shaky panting made her chest, along with its hefty bosom, to rise and fall with her lungs, and, judging by the cramped space available, it came uncomfortable close to her face, till she could see the individual sweat drops, reflecting on one side a dim green exposure. The familiar rusty air, though poison to her senses, mixed with her sweat to create an odor she thought was foully akin to what she witnessed during Eliza's grand performance. Her nurse hat, an object stuck to her head for so long, had dropped. She could have picked it up, of course, seeing how it had happened so many times, especially in the most heated of clashes.

But this time, she was not betting her life for it.

An object she considered a part of her, abandoned due to whatever force she faced.

Perhaps this stressful take of her predicament were not the faults she had committed in any recent time. If so, then where had she gone wrong? The fact that she kept silent to the group may have been the cause, but she had her own justifications against the establishment of contact. There were... complications that were of a distasteful nature to her 7-day younger self; one, and perhaps the only one in particular, was those Lab 8 goons. She knew them, so there was the risk of them knowing her, and, judging by her recent background, their conception of her would be, at best, antagonistic. She did battle against her argument, though never till the end, during the week whilst she watched the rise of a revolution from the rooftops of suburban New Meridian. She saw the sights, so much so that some swayed her to believe that her time of reveal had been then, but her adamant choices held on. Her reconnaissance had done little to her till this point, though by now, most of what she had learnt she would lose in death.

She tried to enlighten herself as to why she was here at this very moment, trying to find some form of redemption to her state. It was simple, really: they needed Theonite; she knew where to get it, or, at most, presumed such. With Lab 8 being the closest, she saw it fit to retrieve some there, and return by the night, with it packaged in disgustingly sparkly wrapping paper... Oh, how that screwed up. She was so agitated by her choices, in fact, that she had to hold back the urge of gnawing away at her face mask.

Her mind abruptly stopped its hasty questioning. It was here. The noise it made sent a shock throughout the muscles of her entirety, and, in response, she quickly crawled between enveloping walls, away from the incoming threat. As her precious light was drenched in a striking red, she barreled her way through a forest of pillow cobweb, so thick she swore the inhabitant spiders were caught in their own home. The netting covered her entire face with white cotton, obscuring her view; but what man or woman would not swim through oddities to escape other threats? At least it did not kill her, but with this handicap she could not see whatever was against her.

She sneezed. Sudden, yes, but not without reason. The fibrous material obstructed her breathing, and its soft touch irritated her nose. Fed up with the irritant, she quickly tore as much of the thread off her face with one grab, and took another step forward-

Which sent her nearly off the edge.

Her footing nearly cost her a few floors down, but, before she could plummet so far down into this ventilation drop, she pushed herself back with her other hand- the healing callouses on the palms of her hand seemed to be of a painful advantage in such a situation, as the addition of friction allowed her to be pushed out of her imbalance. Recovering from the shock of realizing a near-death experience, she furrowed her brows, pulled her hair back with her fingers, and closed her eyes, attempting a futile calming of her stunned being. Clenching her teeth strongly, she swiftly crafted a plan: ascend up through the vent, and escape. The mission was, regrettable, a complete failure. Of course, that meant a Soul Contaminated individual would be created, but that was a sacrifice she did not find much impact in.

She took out her strongest scalpels from... wherever, and, using them as picks, she began her climb up. Her muscles strained as she held on such tiny handles, poking the blade through the walls in such a cramped space. The air below felt more like a discomfort to her bare legs. It blew at her short dress, exposing whatever was below, but being exposed for so long gave her some immunity against this strange form of exhibitionism.

Before long, she got to as far as she could, and weakly crawled into the highest vent. By now, the darkness was so strong, that she had actually knocked her head on the invisible roof as she was climbing, before locating the entrance to the topmost vents. The familiar setting, though more an annoyance now, still gave her such an adrenaline-filled experience once she reached the top that she could not help but sigh with a welcomed relief. Whatever energy she expended with that strenuous activity before was well worth it. Quickly, she journeyed through the vent, reaching the cover and pushing it open in the end. Finally, she was free. Slithering out head-first, she placed her knees on the minuscule shards of glass and other mineral particles on the floor. There was little pain, much less actual injury on her legs, but she took the time to place her hands on clear spots to avoid any more serrated skin.

She turned to her left. Empty, other than a few bits of lab equipment on the floor, with a corridor cutting off any other scientific oddities she could have seen. She turned to her right. Also empty, though a few doors some open- never to be closed- were within her sight. Everything was clear, as if an untouched wilderness of human ingenuity had opened to her. She had, though, seen such a sight before, seeing how she had gone through these same hallways during her earlier infiltration, but, even after accepting the facts, she never would have expected Lab 8, the most active of Labs, to become such an empty shell of its former self. To think of it, there was no discernible life up here. No Egrets, surprisingly, of any sort... Other than what was below.

She shook the thoughts away. The need to escape was more important than what was here now- well, in her case, she found anger in being unable to retrieve what she came here for. There was an underlying burial of shame- a surprising amount- from her failure, perhaps a reminder of a past she dared remember. Cursing her luck, she quickly turned to her left and-

A sound.

She froze. A great onomatopoeic 'clang' echoed through the metal hallways, its origins from her left. She gave a mental start more powerful than she expected, perhaps fueled by her fears of death, which nearly caused her to slip and lose balance. But with this newfound jolt of fright, her petrified body unconsciously pulled back into the vent, where she hid, cursing herself for the feeble, pallid state she was in.

Then a shoe came into view.

* * *

Beowulf gulped. Perhaps it was the intense pressure he felt as he waltzed in through the broken gates, stepping on broken concrete and emerging grass, but whatever it was, it helped pump into him a surge of adrenaline. His mouth contorted into an uncontrollable smile, not one of insanity, but an eager grin he himself could not put down. In front of him was the ground entrance, just like how Big Band directed him. The moon's gaze was upon him, fueled by an interest of a gladiatorial kind, and the shadows were of no help either. It took them around twenty minutes to get here, and it might be more, judging by the instinctual thought of prediction.

With all this, one would expect him to be fully armed for this situation, but he was not. Why was he alone?

Well, other than the crazy girl on his arm.

"Yer STUPID, muscle-brain!" Peacock cursed, as she squirmed, still bound in her sleeping bag, "Why're ye 'ERE alone? You NEET.!"

"What does NEET even mean?" he replied back as his annoyance grew by the fertilizer of her continuous insults. It was a good question though: why was he here, technically alone in a place everyone reckoned had Black Egrets still under the Queen's puppetry. Well, the answer was simple: he opted to go alone, and, seeing how the Egrets must have heard of their exploits during the week, they must be open to helping him scrounge up Theonite under the failing Queen's nose. There was intense backlash from the two back at the restaurant, but he simplemindedly pushed for his decision as an absolute; he even brought up his promise to Big Band before he left, just to emphasize the serious nature of his actions- he of course did not take note of the great facepalm behind him as he walked out with Peacock on his shoulder.

"Yer WASTING yer time 'ere, Y'KNOW?" Peacock droned as he approached the door in strides. He knew it was technically not her at this point, as her mental capacity had begun to be consumed a barnacle of madness, but listening to all this taunting had him thinking uncomfortably of her condition.

"Well," he replied, trying his best to keep a straight face, "I'm doing this for you, so it ain't a waste of any of my time."

"Aw, how NICE~" she swooned with a hysterical playfulness.

Placing one hand on the basement door, he pulled and opened the sarcophagus. A musty puff of air blew into both their faces, a warm welcome disguised as a hug from the atmosphere itself. Still, he saw no Egrets beneath. There were no Egrets guarding the entrance, as well. Meh, he thought, they must be on the lowest floors or something.

He took one careful step inside, and, once his toes touched the concrete, he pulled away. Nothing happened. Seeing his opportunity, he entered, and took the second step of the stairs, and pulled away once again. Nothing happened; so he took his next step, and pulled away again. Noth-

"SLOW!"

Peacock suddenly pushed her body forward, causing the wrestler and her to lose balance and slam the ground, with Beowulf donning a face of shock contorted on his face.

Nothing happened.

His thick fingers twitched. With face, and upper torso, in pain, he struggled to efficiently stand back up. Placing his elbow on the ground, he pushed his body off the ground, and proceeded to cup his stinging, grit-ridden face, swiping away the sand and stones. He was agitated, yes, but now was not the time to argue with a mad-woman over manners. Quickly, he picked up the girl planted on the cement and placed her on his shoulder, before marching again through the empty, moldy halls amidst her cringing taunts.

"Yer annoying, ye KNOW that?"

Beowulf grounded his teeth in reply, inciting a chuckle from the guilty. When he made a turn, he witnessed an empty hallway of equipment and half-opened doors. No Egrets, strangely enough. A vent, with its cover, bowed neatly beside him, still intact. A scent of chemical animosity lingered weakly in the air, unpleasant to his nose.

"Ooh, I smell FLOWERS~" commented Peacock before giving an obnoxious sniff. Though irritatingly distracting, the wrestler ultimately dismissed it, with difficulty, and marched on. As he walked through the path, he, with a seldom spike of curiosity, turned to glance within the doors frozen open; whatever was within seemed to be bedding and various computer equipment, but with such scarce vision, he was not so sure. Perhaps one room had a phantom monster, or maybe the other had nothing but imaginary expectations within. The mystery of this elusive building had tended to his nature of extraordinary fascination, but his goal inhibited his full extent of exploration, and he forced himself to stay in his linear path of ordinary events.

At the end of the hall, he met a towering door, closed off by a single button stationed nobly on its side. Behind it, Beowulf could hear, faintly, the vibrations of what generator hidden behind the metal and concrete. Faint, yes, but how far was the source?

"So," he batted an eye to Peacock on his shoulder, "How many floors does Lab 8 go?"

"Why SHOULD I tell YOU?" she hissed back.

He raised an eyebrow before sighing, then reaching to press the tantalizingly red button. The door, with its dexterous expertise in the suspenseful, began to open on the button's pressing, and, without a word, the wrestler silently slid in, allowing the ferrous mouth behind him to finish opening, then shut, denying away the eyes of last step's watchers.

But by exiting the entrance hallway, he missed the vent cover slam down on the ground.

Beowulf's arms began to ache under the weight of Peacock. It was controversial, really. How could a seasoned wrestler- who tore the arms of a Gigan, mind you- find any exercise in carrying a sleeping bag housing a below-average weighed girl. Surely, there was some trickery involved; perhaps heavy stuffing; a ten-ton barbell? Did she sneak in some extra snacks for the trip, most of which she would likely not share with?

"Hey, can YOU grab that Twinkie IN my POCKET!"

"How did you get that?! And NO!"

During this point of their journey, the two had traversed a floor down through a stairway they discovered. He could not go further down, though, as the entrance was sealed with a crudely made wall of steel plating and screws. He was inclined to try and break it down with the Hurting, but, with careful consideration and his better judgment, he began to explore, saving his remaining arm strength for later uses. There were, still, no Egrets, but he did note an abundance of scrap metal pieces strewn on the floor like rusty polka dots on a gray backdrop. Peacock's constant condescendence in her comments had begun to pump a nerve in him, but his nature stopped him from acting. What alter-ego she was 'possessed' by, he did not enjoy.

Entering a new room, he found the area to be expansive and decorated with many rows of medical tables, with a walkway above. There was this sense that he was being eyed upon from above, but that was quickly dismissed in favor for another, more grounded presence in the room.

As he was looking around, on the other side of the room, the sliding door opened, resonating an overplayed shuffling noise into the room and both their ears. Whatever opened the door must have seen him, and so he quickly took a noticeably different stance. If it was an Egret, he had to rely on his diplomatic skills, but if it was... something else, then he was in for trouble.

His eyes, now straining to see in the dark corridor, trailed to the distance, laying themselves on an approaching silhouette. The moment it entered the light, he froze.

"What is..." he hesitated to speak again as the 'thing' reacted to his words.

The strange creature, whirring itself active, began to beep once it noticed the wrestler and the caterpillar in the distance. Its one standing leg was a circular saw that seemed to turn around even while it was idle, but as it spun round, its body stayed motionless, every so often rearing, in an angle, down or up to the floor. Both arms were up on its sides, as if it were ready to waltz up a stage, but the one thing Beowulf noticed was the menacing gun barrel built on its one hand. The other hand, though, was a clean shade of light grey, smooth as sheet metal, sheen painting the reflective material. Its face, if it even had one, was covered by a drape of protective netting, below red eyes and a shadowed, or maybe black-painted, face like that of a ineligible animosity in a moonless night. Clothed in durable metal sheeting in the shape of a dress, it looked more like a woman of wealth, dressed for some forlorn duty to impress.

Even the cynically insane Peacock held her breath from the surprise of seeing the unnatural force. Taking a deep breath, he began to take a meager step backwards, under the assumption that he needed to escape the room quickly, or risk injury with the weights on his shoulder. At first, his decision to do so did not clash with any of Peacock's problems. The strange droid also did not react to the slow, cautious movement, and he would have found himself exulted in his supposedly judicious act of escape if not for what happened next.

He was ten close steps away from the door before it raised its gun arm. Beowulf, gasping in shock, leaped reflexively, above the closest table, from the black tube's sight. A great roar echoed through the walls, and droplets of spherical saliva spat out from the barrel, smacking on to the ground and denting the metal tables.

"Argh!" Beowulf grunted, clasping tightly his stinging leg.

"HOT dang, son! Should I WRITE a WILL for ya?!" asked Peacock, lying on the floor, ever-so-sarcastically.

The wrestler found it strange that there was no warm viscosity oozing between his fingers. It was then that he noticed that no lead bullet had hit him. What was left in the impact zone on his leg was a dark, pulsating purple swelling, a painful aching reminder of an injury disguised as death. What hit him was no killer. Turning his eyes to the floor, he noticed a red pellet on the floor.

Rubber bullets. This was something the Canopy Kingdom had never seen: a form of harmful ammunition of sadistic pain, not death.

"Oh crap, that really hurts," he spoke, teeth still clenching as the muscles of his body clenched in an effort to quell the pain, but, noticing the looming shadow above him, he gave a gasp as the robot aimed down its gun at him. With frantic hands, he took hold of his folding chair, and held it up his arm while quickly lying down on his side. With this new position, the next shell fired had its pellets bounced off his chair, or missed, with some rebounding back on to the adversary's face or body. But that did not stave it, as it stood its ground. That backfired, though, as Beowulf tightened his grasp on the Hurting and swung it at its head, colliding metal with metal and causing its head to nearly shoot out of its body; it now hung down, held on by a bunch of failing wires. The wrestler eyed carefully at it, waiting for it to fall and signal the end. Instead, a blade emerged from its wrist and it thrusted the weapon at his face, which he dodged- or nearly, as it had scraped on a clean cut on his cheek. He unfortunately lost his balance from the quick thrust, and clumsily wobbled backwards till he tripped on the sleeping bag below, toppling on to the table.

The mechanical enemy retracted its blade and, with the new free arm, tossed the chair blocking its path to its opponents. As it wheeled forward, red blinking lights now set on Peacock, it began to produce incoherent bleeps and blings, almost as if it were communicating in another language. Again, the motor-like whir resonated out of its inner, echoing chambers and miscellaneous piping, signaling the end of its odd noise spasm, before it began to raise its barrel-arm to the corrupted being's head. Peacock, under all circumstances, gave a jokingly frank scream.

"HOLEY GUACAMELEE!"

Then, before it could pull whatever trigger was inside its arm, Beowulf, lying on the table, grabbed hold of its head with his two feet, and yanked it to the side with a bodily twist. As he made his turn, he stood up, cried a great, drumming taunt, and then jumped for an elbow smash. The moment he reached the ground was the moment a great crack and smack echoed like a howl through the entire floor, rousing up the spectating, or idle, rats and cockroaches, scuttling dust and causing spiders to hop in surprise from their cobwebs down to the floor. There, he decided to grab the robot by the strands of substitute necking, before climbing back up to his feet to toss the robot at the nearest table, causing its rusting, aged quadruple stands to cave in.

Standing upright, he watched as the dust he had kicked up began to settle, expectant of a reasonable conclusion. The brown carpet also rattled Peacock's nose, causing her to sneeze away a wave. For an entire minute, the dust settled, and the enemy did not stir. It was over. Giving a deep exhalation, he wiped his forehead of whatever scavenge-able sweat was present, and took up the girl to his shoulders once again.

"Who was that, anyway?" he asked his bound friend.

"I got SCARED by HER, but I CAN'T remember a THING," she replied, before donning a goofily insidious smile, "But that JUST means I'm EATING my OWN brain aWAY~!"

The strange pattern she spoke in began to remind him of his quest, his reason down here, and so, fumbling around his priorities, he quickly set out again.

Behind his back, the robot began to whir awake. Before he could exit, an overwhelming present caused him to turn back, only to be met with a blade aimed at his torso. It was too close, the enemy, and, with a fighter's deduction, he found himself unable to evade the fatal injury.

"Aw, shi-" was all he could say before a giant fist launched it away.

Wait, what?

"BEN?!" Beowulf cried in disbelief as the robot slammed into the wall in the distance, with Big Band standing where it had once been with a raised, steaming fist. "What the hey are you doing here?!"

"We were watching you," the giant weapon placed an equally giant finger on the wrestler's chest, "So you didn't screw up!"

At the end of his words, Annie jumped into view, before blasting a slashing projective to the enemy, slicing it in half. Placing her blunt side of her blade on her shoulder, she gave a light glare at Beowulf and said, "You could have died if we weren't here. We'd lose the two of you at once."

He was silent for a few seconds, trying to take into account whatever he had heard, and witnessed, before, to the surprise of the others, giggling to the astonishing events befalling him.

"Yeah, maybe working as a team's a good idea..." he muttered as he tried to stave away the grin painted to his face, visibly embarrassed by his actions.

Annie gave a weak smile, and replied softly, tone understanding of his reaction, "At least you understand."

As she finished, they both finally realized the absence of Ben. Hearing a metallic disturbance, they turned to the robot, to find Big Band scrounging around its dead corpse. Whatever it was that found his interest, had glued his eyes to it. The two never saw him with such eyes of pressured focus so afraid of some vocational error that would impose some form of punishment. Quickly, they strutted to his side and began to peek at whatever work he was doing.

"What's up?" the wrestler asked, though his question was quickly retracted once he noticed the dumbfounded fear in his eyes. The shadow falling on his face, the eye bags growing heavy- it was as if he learnt that there was no God.

"Black..." Ben muttered under his shaking breath, luring the two to lean closer to his mouth.

" _Dahlia_."

The robot, to the sudden shock of the group, began to screech. It was almost searing to the ears as the three cupped their ears in futile attempt to block out the pitch. Peacock was unaffected, mind you.

"Welp, she LOST her sense of PAIN~!"

As it ended, and while they began to recover from the splitting whistling in their heads, the lab began to blow its sirens. The red bulbs above began to flicker awake, and whatever hole around the walls emitted a great blare. Lab 8 began to wake.

"Why'd it do that?" asked Beowulf, who turned his head back and forth around the roof of the room in confusion. Then the floors began to shake, and the walls opened its hidden wounds.

Pods.

Cylindrical pods of glass and metallic stands.

Big Band began to sink.

"MOVE!" The moment he cried, he had got up on his mini feet, and had dashed away, crashing through the exit of the room in spite of the wildly confused eyes of the others. Beowulf turned to Annie. She turned to him. They both blinked. Sagan also blinked awake.

"COME ON!"

And with that, they quickly exited the scene away.

Within the chambers, a white smog clouded whatever could be seen by inside. The sirens continued its opera. The lights flared up its disco moves of red fluorescent.

A hand from within laid on the glass.

* * *

It would not be long before Big Band, hurried and furious, found himself losing all that emotion, halting in his advances as he entered a junction of two different paths- this change in disposition puzzled of his companions, who also stopped, though that could also be due to his large size blocking much of the hallway. Perhaps it was the nostalgic recollections induced within him from the familiar setting, but the ache within his memory sundered whatever priority he had. That, though, was short-lived, as Beowulf had tapped him on the shoulder, and took his focus away to him.

"Dude," he called to him, before taking a few steps forward under the momentum, "Come on!"

Clicking his teeth, Ben complied with this ironic request and tailed the two. Why did he stop though? The answer was a very simple notice of a forgotten world.

He saw the corridor to his old sleeping chambers.

Understandably, he knew that staying there to ogle at his old home was a deadly premonition in his part. What broke him was the thought that Peacock would not remember such a place; her home was like nothing to her now. That aspect of Soul Contamination also brought up a more distressing problem: it was too fast, compared to Doctor Avian's predictions. They needed Theonite to quell the corrupting force, and they needed it now. Whatever state that would come next was unprecedented, but he hoped it did not push her into a pool of sheer killing intent or intense dementia. There was one area most prominently, and metaphorically, flooded with Theonite, though. The lowest floor, where most of the lab scientists would gather. But how far could they go before whatever was behind him catch up?

"LOOK!"

Annie's voice cried. Turning to her, he noticed that she was now pointing at the silver door in the distance.

An elevator.

"Come on, we can use tha-!"

"No!" screamed Ben, "The guy who posted these robots won't be that dumb to leave the elevator empty!"

Conveniently, there was a stairwell next to the elevator, which Ben squeezed into. Looking down the railings, he could see that it descended a few tall floors down. The last floor, though, was covered by steel plating crudely screwed together.

An idea came into his mind.

"Beowulf, Annie, grab onto me!"

At first, they were confused by his request, somewhat surprised by the suddenness of it all; but quickly that subsided, and the two grabbed hold of his body through his brown trench coat, tightly grasping on whatever edges were touchable from the thin fabric.

"HOLD ON!" Then, with his tiny feet, he jumped.

The air beneath him parted way for the falling meteor of brass instruments and three individuals. His giant body collided with the side railings, bouncing him harmlessly away with a loud clang of denying metal. As the floor got closer, he held his brass fist into the air, and began to cry a battle grunt.

His prosthetic legs touched the ground with a loud tap.

His fist came with a deafening crash.

Immediately, the floor began to shake, and tumble into broken shards and rubble. It began to cave, and he fell with the auric debris.

Finally, he landed.

The two behind him were silent for some time, till he believed that they fell off his back, but, before he could turn back, Beowulf cried out exasperatedly, "Okay, that was not what I expected!"

Annie jumped off of the man's back, and, with a composed air, patted the dust off her dress, before collapsing to her knees. "Givemeamomenthere," she spoke with panicking swiftness, before stumbling back up.

Big Band found no fault in the loss of breath. It was rather unwonted and sudden, so the fact that they were not ready mentally for such a feat to happen was excusable. But at least they were miles faster than their chasers. He then noticed that the exit was sealed with more metal, and, with this new discovery, he replied by readying his fist.

"Woodwind...?"

He paused. Turning around, he flinched with a great start at Peacock's new condition. Beowulf, surprised by her newly-weakened voice, placed her down, only to jump back in surprise by her new appearance. One eye was covered by a root-like darkness, and her skin seemed to pale into a strange grayness, like that of a dead grave's denizen. Saliva drooled through her metal teeth like miniature waterfalls, uncontrollable to her. The black corruption covered nearly her whole face now, and her hair began to frizz unnaturally. She also seemed... thinner on her cheeks. Ben was astonished. She was weakening. Her body was quickly losing all its functions.

"I... I thought I lost my sense... of PAIN!" she began to scream as the squirming intensified. Beowulf began to console her, to no avail. Annie was at a loss for words for a moment, before coming to her side to comfort her.

Big Band, though, began to panic.

With a quick twist, his fist collided with the sealed door, and, shoulders butting away whatever was left, he entered the lowest floor of the Lab, mind adamantly set on the cure to his comrade's ailments. But then, his pupils shrunk away.

Whatever he, and the two saw, had left them petrified. His prediction for a Lab still intact with leftover Theonite was but a depressing loss. The machinery, the once great room of yellow tubes and pods was but a lifeless drained skeleton. There was no Theonite. At the distance, in the middle of the room: a giant cement wall and reinforced doors. What lay between was what truly took them by surprise, however. It was like an imminent torrent of robots, all arranged orderly as if ready to march in tandem. Their lowered faces began to rise. Their flashlight eyes lit the group's face with a bright scarlet.

"Turn back!" commanded Ben with the gravest of voices, only to find that the exit behind him had become crowded with other robots.

He, once again, froze in dismay.

They were trapped.

They turned to their right. Then their left. No exits. They were surrounded.

"Uh..." Annie's voice began to whisper with a shake, "What... now?"

He gulped the saliva, stimulated by his uncertainty, down. There was no answer coming to his head, and Beowulf noticed this. The predicament of his fumbling psyche perturbed the wrestler carrying the child, and, provoked by their lost attitudes, began to actively look around for a way to escape, if not with the others, then with Peacock.

"Up there," muttered Beowulf. What he had discovered was a larger-than-average vent installed high above the Lab's floors, next to a gridded girder. "We can climb that metal whatchamacallit to get up there."

"Beo," responded Annie with a low voice, "We're too short to even jump up there."

"I got it," Big Band then exclaimed, "I'll boost you two up."

The mechanical menace began to draw closer.

"Then are we agreeing on that idea?"

Ben and Annie nodded in reply. Sagan seemed to hop in the air, stretching its flimsy limbs out in excitement.

Beowulf gulped. If they were to blaze a trail through them, they needed to find a weak link. Like breaking diamonds, or so what he had heard: aim, then crack at the best spot. But judging by the morbid neatness of the order, it seemed impossible to do so.

But then he saw his opportunity.

Taken by amazement, he quickly shook off the excitement and howled, "Follow me!" Immediately, he ran into a small empty line within the crowd, pushing aside the hands reaching out to pounce upon him. The metallic steps of his friends followed suite in his path, followed by what he would believe was the giant trench-coat man shoving back whatever was trying to immobilize him. Annie, on the other hand, reared down as she ran, dodging whatever blades tried to slash at her, pushing away those that stood in the way of her blade.

A robot drove in the way of Beowulf, though that was quickly a minor point of the journey, as he had, with his one free hand, effortlessly smashed it away with his chair.

Before he knew it, he reached his destination. Well, he actually smashed into it, but that was another minor bit of detail.

"Annie, cover us!"

"Got it!"

As she started her repelling of the artificial menace, Big Band began his aid of ascent. Grabbing on to Beowulf, he lifted him, along with the suffering child, up into the air, high enough where Beowulf could squeeze out his free hand to hold on the metal zigzags.

"GO!" he heard Ben cry; and so he did, climbing faster and faster, even though he held a handicap. "Come on, Annie!"

Quickly, Annie left her post in compliance, and hopped on to the giant, allowing her to step up and reach where she needed to, tucking Sagan into her fanny pack in the process. Then, Big Band, with his giant arms, gripped on the girder, and with his boosters, boosted himself up. He did not come to think of flying up to the vent, because one worry plagued his mind during this short span of time.

The robots raised their gun arm, and began to unload their pellets at the group. These balls shredded the air around them, and in a matter of momentous milliseconds, knocked on to the steel and background. Frightened by what would happen if the child hero above him were to be hit, he began to push himself up lie a thrust into the air, reaching out to provide shielding with his brass arms, but his efforts were of futile attempt: a rubber bullet smacked on to her hand. She grunted, squeezing her eyes and grip in an effort to contain the pain, but, with the loss of one arm and the loss of her focus, she began to lose her balance, and hang high in the air.

"DON'T-" before Birdland could aid her recovery, her remaining arm faltered in her weight, and relinquished its grip, causing her to tumble into the fray. Ben quickly followed, catching her on the way down and shielding her from the fall. As they collided with the concrete, sending curtains of dust and stone hopping delightfully into the air, Beowulf, bothered by the commotion beneath him, asked loudly, "WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

As he began to look down, the man below replied in stark ferocity, "JUST KEEP GOING! The central vents should lead you to the Lab's secret vault! That's the last chance we've got!" The wrestler, worried beyond his wits, hesitantly complied and began his ascent.

Big Band gulped.

They were now in the middle of an enemy attack, with no way out.

Emerging from his metallic arms, Annie, shaken by the sight, only paused in silence.

The robots drove slowly closer.

"So we have to trust Beowulf to do our job, now?" she asked, in an oddly joking fashion, as if knowing imminent death was approaching in suave fidelity.

Though Big Band knew of her confidence against a programmed enemy, he was not so. There seemed some element of horror sprinkled within this treacherous battle to come, garnished with a learning of reassuring death. He knew these robotic models all too well, and he was not looking forward to the fight.

The mechanical beings unsheathed their wrist blades.

"Yeah. Let's hope we can count him for it."

Noticing a faraway robot aiming its weapon at the wrestler still climbing, the giant gave a glorious battle cry, and smashed his way through the crowd to smash it down with a giant sand-bag, before engaging in those around him. Annie, on the other hand, took on the domestic troubles, cutting through steel and using her galactic motif to breeze through them with starry strikes and swings.

Beowulf, on the other hand, kept on going. There was the usual gunfire, causing pellets of red polymeric to smash into his chair, or the surrounding metal. He was terrified of the instantaneous pain they caused, and so, fueled by this fear, he quickened his pace, even with Peacock on hand; it would not be long before this weak attempt of dodging failed him, and the first bullet smacked on to his leg. But he pushed on through the immense bruising till he began to succumb to the exhaustion. A late night rush to the Lab, and numerous breathtaking events begun to wear down on the veteran, though his willpower had suppressed any visual effects of such tire.

It seemed like a year of pain phased through his nerves before he reached the shortest distance from the vent. As he got ready to jump, he peered down to the war beneath. His comrades were slowly being overwhelmed, and he, regrettably, had to leave them behind. He could not take his eye away from them, amidst the hurry in his and their minds. His mind began to play on the chances: what if there was no Theonite below? Then all was in vain. Surviving through Neferu's regime seemed so impossible now. What if there was? Could he and Peacock return in time? Why was he even regretting his own plan?

The sounds began to drown in his heavy breath.

His mind grew numb in the sensation of doubtfulness.

His energy began to sap away.

"Beowulf."

He shuddered out of his state. That voice, it sounded so familiar. And why was it so close?

"Beowulf!"

He turned to the vent. There was no mistake whose voice it belonged to.

"Ninja nurse?"

* * *

How would she have known that following them instead of escaping away would bring so many new perspectives on the Lab and its inner workings?

How would she have known that using the largest vent to follow them down the floors lead to whatever actions she decided to do?

She saw it all happen. Saw them through the space within the grates. Saw the child hero and the Lab 8 weapon engage the enemy while that idiot scaled the mountains to whatever gates of heaven this vent meant. She bore witness to his hesitation to leave his... 'friends' to die, and she saw a 'bit of herself' within that action, like how her hesitation of leaving became so much more.

Again, the question came like an odd blur from... somewhere, only incited by such actions aiding the group's cause: why? Her only answer was gut feelings. She bore no interest of a further kind in the wrestler, or any of the three. But perhaps there was more than that that brought her here today. Was it the pitiful longing to again be something larger?

Last Hope?

Lab Zero?

The Skullgirl?

That seemed to undermine her once adamant views on her own psyche. Dragged into such a low state of wanting to depend and be depended on. She worked alone, and she knew that best.

But perhaps their charisma, and her connections to them, had brought her to this.

Such a solemn individual, nowhere like what her image was before; but at least it meant she was human.

This time, she was not going to hide in the shadow, pretending to be a part of the bigger picture. This time, it was her decision to initiate.

Once hiding behind the vent cover, she now pushed the wall out of its sockets, still undetected by the wrestler, into plain view. Still, the dimness of partially being inside the vent obscured her from the views below, but, perhaps still uncertain of their views of her, she embraced the element of stealth.

"Beowulf," she called to him. He stirred, but she knew he needed more. And the explosive clattering of metal below had pushed her voice aside.

So she called again, louder this time, "Beowulf!"

Now he turned. The very essence of surprise filled his eyes, thought that was, by itself, expected.

"Ninja nurse?!" he cried.

Extending her two arms, she requested for the frail girl to be thrown to her, though her wariness of any questioning was still at its peak.

"Wait," he said, inconveniently wasting time, "Why're you here! And why should I trust you?!"

"Now's not the time for questions!" she replied harshly behind her face mask, "And you should trust me because you don't have a choice!"

Beowulf hesitated once again, turned to his allies below, and turned back to her, as if asking for more than just what he thought was empty promises. There was this concentrated sense of worry in his expression, but Valentine was not here to play the pity game.

"COME ON! THEY NEED YOUR HELP, AND SHE NEEDS MINE!" Oh, how she felt strange saying that.

He visibly gulped. Then, at the last moments of her patience, he gave a forlorn nod, and tossed the heavy sack across the sea of empty space and air. She caught it flawlessly, but the unexpected weight caused her to tumble and bolster her balance.

"KEEP HER SAFE, NURSE PERSON!" He yelled, shaky in his tone from whatever remaining worries lingered. Then he began to slide down to join his friends.

She knew she would not disappoint.

Quickly, she squeezed herself, and the now-weak Peacock, into the larger-than-normal vent, and began to traverse the lungs of the Lab. She remembered what the Lab 8 giant said to the wrestler, and so, flourishing her intellect and deduction, she began to search for the lower level. An intricate maze of vents followed, to her surprise. There were many a pathways to different ends and such; nobody wanted anyone to enter the secret chambers easily. She herself never heard of such a room- later, by simple thinking, she deduced that it was Lab 8's storeroom beneath, the fabled weapons hold the child would have used to combat the Skullgirl. For it to hold Theonite within was a gamble by its own rights. But she must deliver, to atone of any wrongs she did in the past.

By some miracle of a higher power she could not grasp, she found the way down. Straight down.

Slowly, she entered, and slid down, with the giant bag on both arm. Hopping from one side to the other, she calmly descended what most would have seen as a drop to death. There were the usual ventilation fans in the way, but whatever weapon hidden in her shoes helped solve the case.

Peacock began to groan.

The contamination was beginning to take over like wildfire. Whatever was left of her pale skin was now a black remnant of its past gloss, and now she believed it was not only the skin that was being lost to whatever darkness.

Her world began to go black. The lower she went, the less the light.

That was till she reached the bottom.

The vent cover in the distance glowed. It glowed through its slits an amber blaze. She was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. She was all too familiar with the odd glow of liquid Theonite, and so, with this invigoration she surely found vital, Valentine began to crawl, faster than before, to her prize.

Pushing the cover off, she emerged into a great hall beneath Lab Eight. An expansive wasteland of weapons and other armaments, including a caged, fat elephant. It was so dark, though. So very nightly, that even her nocturnal eyes found difficulty adjusting to the sight. As her eyes laid on where the Theonite was, she began to gasp in surprise. In petrifying awe, she laid her eyes on a humongous glass cylinder. So wide in circumference, so tall in size that it towered everything around it. There must have been an entire river of liquid gold within. But Theonite was not all it held. There was something else within. A silhouette.

She dismissed the oddity, covered it with the increasing adulation of success. She believed the entity to be just an illusion in her mind. Placing Peacock down nearby, she took out her hospital stand, complete with its own blood bag, and got ready her strike to breaking open the glass chest.

Then, she found herself on the floor. Something had put her down. Her face, on its left cheek, ached a pain of blunt proportions. Valentine grew in astonishment. She had been punched.

As she fumbled to get to her feet, she finally realized who had done so; around her were more of these dangerous robotic enemies- three, to be exact. They closed off their gaps, and surrounded her in occultist fashion. One unsheathed its wrist blade, the other its gun. One stood idly, a sentinel to the walls closing her off.

At first, she stayed still. There she was, the famed kunoichi who could, now on her knees by those not even of flesh. Whatever silly symbolism this lent itself to, she was too frightened by her past experiences of them to even try and break the cycle.

The one with its gun raised began to point it at her head. The dreadful time of bruising her pretty, killer face. Or maybe her body if it missed for some reason. A drip of sweat began to fall on to the dusted floor. Her confidence began to break.

What would Christmas think of her now?

Christmas...

Everyone else she knew?

What about them?

What about Beowulf. The others? That child?

Was she lost to begin with?

...

She sighed within her mind. There was no need to fret about the past no longer. The loss of her friends, the Skullgirl's defeat, and Brain Drain's killer intent upon her were just memories now, fueling what was needed to be done in the present.

Letting go suddenly became so much more refreshing than regretting. Her fears quickly expelled, too.

And her fighting prowess began to boil beneath her skin.

They had no advantage of surprise now. She would fight them head on with all the equipment she had.

And she, pushing away the barrel staring down her face, picked up the stand and lunged.

Her dexterity pushed to the limit to accommodate the three. Her pain was blocked by sheer willpower, the agility she held was bolstered by straining muscles, and her strength, adrenaline filled, was fueled by the fires of succeeding. There was no time to think of how corny that sounded; rather, her time was spent enraged at what she could not push herself to be.

She danced around the battlefield, clearly set on destroying whatever stood against her. She began to run- sanely- wild. Her eyes analyzed at speeds she had pushed to achieve, her hands and feet twisted, turned to avoid anything coming at her. Her whole body seemed like air, avoiding any attacks and shots with a pinpoint accuracy. She was not here to play games or act calm and ferocious. Now was the time to act ferocious, and only ferocious. Become a force of nature to make ends meet.

This was her sweet release, the exploration of her unrecognizably flawed mind that she had waited for. No matter the question of how long she thought so, it was nonetheless exhilarating.

She did it not for Beowulf, but her own selfish longing for the future.

And then, when she reached her limit, the last finally fell. And she too, followed, though she was still conscious. Her energy was all gone. She was nothing but an exhausted mess on the untouched concrete. A trickle of blood fled her forehead, a sign of injury dealt during the battle. Around her laid the scattered remains of her foes. No, she spoke to herself, I need to keep moving. So, with the stand, she stood up, creaking her joints. Weakly approaching the glass container, she, with one last push, raised the stand above her head, and fell unconscious, falling face down. But during this fall, her stand struck the chamber, and cracked the exterior with a measly snowflake.

And all went silent.

But that was till the silhouette within began to glow.

* * *

She awoke.

Startled she was to the core that she questioned the boundaries of reality and dreaming.

What had happened?

So many battles. That was what she could remember.

So many.

Her hands, tightly grasping her blanket, stifled her senses with cold sweat. Now she noticed her whole face drenched of cold sweat was uncomfortable. But perhaps that was for the better.

It had all been a dream.

But, just to check herself, she forced her body off her bed, yawned drowsily, and then approached the bathroom door. Entering the bathroom, she began to look at her face. Touched her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, and then lastly her chin. There was no problem, other than the thick coating of transparent, ethereally colored sweat.

Perhaps there was no worry. Maybe she had just worried herself too much for her own good.

But then, her mirror cracked.

Her face began to distort. Whatever color was on the mirror changed. She did not see herself anymore.

"I win again, ME."

And it all turned to black.

* * *

 **Other than the fact that we do see a glimpse of a really, REALLY, REALLY familiar character (you know, from promotional material), I guess you can see the problems of Valentine. Her character in the game was spiteful and relentless, but here, I had no choice but to try something different. In fanfiction, you get a lot of liberties, but I try to match the source material as much as possible... This isn't the best example, I guess. Maybe you guys think it's fine, I think it's lacklustre, and is open to improvement. You can send me your opinions through private messaging, or reviewing without an account. Try and make it sound like a constructive criticism, or positive review, okay, or else I am not justified to allow it to be shown. *:P***

 **Please review, pl0x~! And MERRY CHRISTMAS! This is a gift from yours truly. Not perfect, but I bet it'll occupy your day.**


	11. Through the Mind

**Ah, the new year... I'm now technically in college, so yeah! :D**

 **Sorry for the delay, guys. This is ANOTHER chapter that went longer than expected. In many cases, it would have been the longest chapter if I continued and ended at my desired point. For now, I'm only going this far. The next chapter'll wrap up the entire thing.**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter! Please review. Like, REALLY REVIEW. Look at the freaking definition in the internet, and then come back. Constructive criticism is welcomed.**

* * *

Self upon self.

A pile of selves.

Good selves.

Bad selves.

Honest selves.

Questionable selves.

The underlining self.

The interior self.

The exterior self.

So many selves.

But who is the real self?

Confusing? That would be akin to calling one's self confusing. But is that not correct? One must be more a puzzle than a complete slate, with all the choices and decisions they make?

So who is the real self?

Well, what is the use of preaching the fundamentals, without teaching of the processes? One word is all any man needs to understand the basics:

Memory.

Memory makes the stairs.

Simple, yes?

Not really.

This is just a tip of the iceberg of however one can explain anything. Because this is just an interpretation from whoever wishes to grasp the concept of the body, mind and soul- a Trinity above all Trinities, effortless to grasp, mind-numbing to truly understand and apply.

A philosophical entity can only come to comprehend little of how its processes turn. Try: meditate till the balance of these three elements are in balance. It may be a success, but there is one thing all these monks do not take into account this control of our inner workings.

Can a body, mind and soul, take control of another set?

If so, how?

What is the battle between lives like? A belligerent struggle? A contemplative verbal debate? Or truly despicable insidiousness? Is there even a battle?

Who knows, but those that experience it?

Right?

 **FILIA?**

* * *

She awoke.

This... seemed familiar.

The girl turned to her left, then rotated to her right.

A wasteland?

Where was this?

Why could she not remember anything?

She began to move; pushed herself off the floor to her feet. As she straightened, she began to observe her surrounding. White, ghostly sand as far as the eye can see. Granular bits of the same size, each, with no impurity in sight. A flowing, thin mist seeped through the grains, bringing with it a scent she found herself surprisingly accustomed to. The sky- no, the atmosphere itself was dark, like a blanket of black. What is this place, she asked herself. As she did, the sands began to move, and the ground seemed to sink as if it were a wave, gently letting the girl ride the torrent of the wind.

The sands began to mold in front of her. A great hill grew into being, and she watched in awe as the sand began to blow away from the top, revealing what seemed to be a colored statue beneath; well, that was what she thought, before it began to move.

And speak.

"Ugh, there's so much sand here!" the person cried in a voice bordering femininity's annoyance. Coughing a few times, she finally noticed the girl beneath, and, with a rather snarky like snicker, began to wave down at her.

"Yoo-hoo, Filia~! Up here! Nice seeing you again!"

Filia? That was her name? Other than it being odd, how would a stranger know her name? Who was this person. She, mustering her courage, asked the mysterious person, "Uh, who are you?"

"Tsk, how could you forget," she gave a pout, and crossed her arms, "I'm your great... 'fren'- or something like that. Fukua, remember?"

She- I mean Filia, began to delve into her memories for such a person's name. Quickly, she found no luck reminiscing of such a person. Well, now that she thought of it, she did not remember anything.

"What?" cried Fukua from above, "You can't remember? The miniskirt don't remind you of anything?"

Filia shook her head, much to the disappointment of the other.

"Well, judging by the fact that this entire phase of your memory is covered, I'd guess you forgot everything."

What?

She found confusion in her words, and so asked, "Where are we?"

Fukua rolled her eyes, and sat down comfortably on the sand, before replying, "I don't know; use your head or something. Think."

Filia only stared, confused. She just could not make sense of what she uttered at all. In the midst of this puzzling predicament, she noticed the annoyance incited in the stranger from her stare, so, from her courteous attitude, she stopped and turned away, though even that caused more irritation in Fukua.

"YOUR MIND!" she screamed, "We're in your mind! Or body, or soul, or something like that."

Her mind? Even with her memory loss, she found skepticism in trying to believe this outrageous claim. "That... sounds weird."

"What's so weird about that? This entire place is weird! What's with this sudden 'memory loss-phase'? Did you get hit on the head too hard?"

"I-I don't know. Can you help me?"

"What?" Fukua raised an eyebrow, "'Help' you? Maybe this will help?" Snapping her fingers together, the sand mound began to dissipate into the gale. The strong wind had begun to move the floors as well, and Filia began to lose balance and fall on her backside. She covered her eyes in an instinctual attempt to barricade them from any of the dust. Her body smoothened in all the uncomfortably, eroding sand. Before long, it too dissipated, and she found herself obliged to open her eyes.

What she saw was not to her expectation. Filia gave a grave start at what the sand had hidden from her. A great hill laid in front of her, but it was no hill of rocks, it was a hill of hers. So many bodies piled together that it seemed more like a throne to any that sat beneath. They were unscathed, but the morbid nature of it all struck her down, and she could not get back up. Was this a nightmare? Perhaps a godly punishment?

Sliding down the bumpy hill without effort, Fukua began to walk closer to the girl on the floor. And, after licking her lips, she began to... sing?

 _I'm a proud warrior,_

 _Strong without a doubt._

The closer she got, the darker her voice. Filia was then stunned with a fear she could not explain. It was not the great hill of bodies, it was Fukua herself, because now that she could see her through the mist, she learned of one horrifying fact.

 _Here is my fist,_

Fukua held up her balled knuckle.

 _Inside your face._

She did exactly that, and the windows began to smash.

Windows?

Smash?

Ignore the redness of her face. Ignore the bleeding nose she now bore. She was falling, far, into a cavernous, black abyss of nothing. And, above her, Fukua peeked through the cracks and gave one more farewell.

"Do you remember now?"

And, with that, the crack ceased to exist, and she was plunged into a darkness she could not comprehend.

As the air caressed her falling body, and the blood droplets began to buzz like mosquitoes around her, her memories began to return, to her surprise. Perhaps it was a temporary handicap, but it would have helped her against her attacker, at the least. That woman, she came in from nowhere, took her by surprise and began beating her in everything. Who was she, technically? Her alter-ego? An invader from foreign soil? She did not know, and she could not combat her without her parasite.

She was alone in her own head.

She blinked once, and suddenly she was on her feet in a new surrounding. Her bleeding nose was cured, and there was no pain emanating through the nerves of her face. But where was she now?

A void of idle emptiness surrounded her, but then how was she standing? She peeked down to learn that she had been standing on a bundle of tied, tendril-like, grey strands, as if a floating carpet had caught her in her fall. That new knowledge did not aid her in her other questions, though. Where was she to go on this small platform of what felt like hay beneath her feet? Where was Fukua?

Where was Samson?

At the moment in which those thoughts entered her mind, a light 'swoosh' entered her ears, and she looked up to see an ethereal crossing grow outward to the horizon. She was lightly surprised by this, though her curiosity had not dispelled, nor did her caution. Fukua could be anywhere.

She took her first step. Nothing happened. Then she began to pace slowly through the bridge to the darkness, without any trouble whatsoever. Though the atmosphere began to lighten, she herself was beginning to panic.

Below the calm was a thundering cloud. Something was very wrong.

Then, her world turned red.

The sight of magmatic blood, and it's contrast to the dark, almost blinded her, and she stumbled nearly to the edge. After she regained her balance, she began to sweat cold drops of fluid.

She never wanted the darkness back as much as this.

Then the ground began to quake, and a great crash resonated from behind her. Filia, feet frozen to the spot, turned around.

" **HELLO, FILIA** ~" the great monstrosity that blanketed the skies, shook the world saw all roared as its hungering eyes laid on the child, " **IS YOUR** **MIND'S** **READY TO BE** **MINE** **, YET**?"

Filia gasped. Her heart began to pump adrenaline through her, and, without any thought of where she could go, she began to run. The titanic figure began to follow, destroying the carpet she had stood on. The girl's path was riddled with random excuses for roads; floating stones that immediately crawl to her feet once she came close to the edge, a phantasmic tunnel of dangling hair, and floating islands she had to jump to reach. The demonic sky tore as the monstrous woman slashed into the walls with her nails as it journeyed down to the feeble inconveniences below.

It was not long before she found herself blocked by a dead end. She stopped in her path, unsure of her next move.

" **FILIA** ~" the blast of her voice blew through the curves of the addressed's body, " **YOUR MIND! GIVE IT TO ME!** "

Filia shuddered under the tremendous monster. The sheer power she felt emitting from this invading force frightened her every being.

It was then that a strange box-shaped room floated up, creating a new path for her to take. Quickly, she charged forward, hoping for protective sanctuary, but, as she took her first look inside, she noticed a spiraling stairwell, extending down into what seemed like an eternity of torch sconces and steps. But there was no time to ask common sense, and so she quickly closed the door behind her and began her descent.

" **HEY**!" the door began to bang profusely, " **LET ME IN**!"

Of course, there was no time to ponder of the door's magical properties. Filia had to flee, to find refuge somewhere to gain her bearings and formulate plans and tactics against her. Fukua had grown too strong for her to handle- it was not brawn that would win, it was brain, and she knew that terribly well.

It was then that the roof began to tear away with a stomach-wrenching crumble. Her imagination ran wild with how her foe did so, but, stumbling under her steps, the thought were quickly swept away in favor for panic, caution and reflexive actions.

The slapping of her feet on the stone, her hoarse breath, the wind fleeing through the fleeting girl; they deafened her to such extents, that her hearing numbed. Her whole body seemed numb. She had never felt so much fear in her life- or what she remembered.

But that numbness brought misfortune upon her: She never noticed the audacious statues conniving beside her.

"Am I winning yet?" The sudden inquiry of a thousand shocked the girl till she began to slip.

She started to fall down the middle of the well.

Of course she screamed a bloody screech, as if it were the soul squeezing through the contracting body. The stairs around her began to speed through her vision, till they were so fast that they felt more like a complete structure. But then it began to pigment itself transparent, and then the sweet scent of rose filled her nose. Then she splashed into scented water, emerging moments later to find herself entombed in a sky and horizon of glass. But the smell, it brought an odd familiarity to her senses that she unconsciously began to calm in the wake of the floral amenity, though not so much as to bring down all her defenses. It also seemed that Fukua was gone, and, with that revelation in him, she was overwhelmed with relief, but, as stated before, she kept a firm caution with her environment.

Scooping a bit of water, she brought it near her nostril, and began to sniff it. "Is this perfume?" she asked, and, sure enough, after further inspection- tasting, observing and the likes- she recognized the water as a beauty product, and halted any more lickings for further confirmation.

Then, as she began to expect nothing from what was to come, a light shadow began to loom over her, and, turning to see what it was, she realized it to be a giant pillar falling ever so close to her. Almost instantly, she began to swim away from its trajectory, only to be caught in its tidal blast, which lifted her high with its waving water hand, before dropping her down into the water. Submerged, she opened her eyes to see, at the bed of this sea of cosmetic, a grand mountain of gold and riches, of sunken ships still flying their flags, of skeletons still adorned with their corundum jewelry and sharks biting off the bony hands, ingesting the gold and precious stones to a void never seen under the flesh. Perhaps there was some deeper meaning to this, but for now, she did not delve into it. Quickly, she swam to the surface, and took her first gasp for air.

Her eyes quickly fixated themselves on the great pillar which fell, and, to her surprise, she found it to be an elevator, with its doors open. It was as large as a wide room, of glistening gold floors and furnishing, as if large groups would have used it to move around. Again, it felt so familiar to her, that she felt compelled to enter.

And so she did.

Climbing aboard, she, without hesitation, instinctively approached the elevator's button pad, and, with a knowledge she could not grasp, dialed a specific combination. The mechanism quickly revved to life, closing its doors and beginning its ascent to heaven, with Filia comfortably inside. Her body magically cleansed itself dry, and simple jazz from the lift's speaker's soothed her shaking bones. She felt, surprisingly, right at home in this place. Could this environment be a forgotten memory come back to her? If so, then does it all mean that she was in the deepest reaches of her mind? A barrier of uncertainty stood in her way of a conclusive answer, though, prompting her to abandon the thought and resume her idle wait.

It was some time later before the elevator gave its pleasant ping and stopped. It was strange, because there was no floor to be seen. Then, at the distance, a figure began to appear. Filia began to tense herself stiff.

Fukua.

There she was, walking on air as if a floor had existed there. But this time it was different. She looked more like a transparent silhouette than a real person. While she mesmerized over the fact, she then noticed a strange clicking sound above her.

Fukua.

Her counterpart was descending from a chain from the roof. This one was also of a phantasmagoric nature. Filia took one step back. Then, out of the corner of her eye, on the wall adjacent to the door:

Fukua.

Three? This one seemed to be more a reflection on the wall, still a phantom in its coloration; that did not stop her from shivering in fear's freezing grasp.

As the door opened, and Fukua 1 strutted in, 2 stopped her descent, right before she landed, and 3 began to emerge into existence. She positioned herself some distance beside the frightened girl, allowing the one above her to jump down and, with green spark, join with her, creating a fuller color. The last one marched into her, also seamlessly slipping into her body, finally producing the shine of her dark skin.

After that, she stood still. She whistled.

Whistled.

The elevator was stuck in place high in heaven. She could not escape. True, even if she fell high from the sky, it was still a world in her-

"Trying to run?" Fukua questioned with her snake's tongue, "You're so scared of lil' old me?"

Filia stuttered in whatever reply she could exhale from her mouth.

Her counterpart snickered, amused by such an extreme reaction.

"So..." she turned her attention away to the elevator itself, "What does this all mean?"

"Huh?"

"This symbolism? Or maybe they're parts of your memory?"

Filia blinked. What was she trying to imply?

"You don't walk memory lane, do you? Well, seeing how you forgot, let me explain to you: everything here is something you've forgotten. They're still in your head, but you just can't get it. Amnesia or something."

At this point, Filia began to let down her cautious guard, and listen, earnest for answers.

"An elevator that seems to go on forever? Gold and other rich stuff?" Fukua's eyes trailed to her's, and, with eyes of a curious felid, she asked in carefree graveness:

"What happened?"

Filia shook at the thought, and she was unable to give any semblance of an answer.

"Oh, there's one last thing."

She explained as she paced to the button pad, "Something must be done to finish the entire story."

"I-it's not done?"

"Oh please," as she reached the buttons, she suddenly grasped the metal plating, and tore off the covers to reveal a hidden mechanism beneath, "It's never done till I do it."

That was when she pressed it.

Immediately, the entire elevator began to descend in a speed almost uncontrollable by human standards. The scraping of metal ringed in Filia's ears as Fukua approached her and backed her into the corner.

"Yes...!" she hissed seconds before the elevator plunged into the dark water, "You always held yourself high, but something went horribly wrong, didn't it? You went down, DOWN, **DOWN**!"

Filia swore that she began to well up with tears. The darkness encroaching him, the monster of her mirroring; what corruption would do this to her? She shuddered under her enemy's shadow, quivering against the immenseness she felt watching her.

"HAHA!" Fukua cackled in ecstasy, "I love it when people get scared!" Clutching Filia's neck, she pushed her to the wall and held her a head higher with her strength.

"Back when I was alive, nobody left my reach intact! Once a dead Warrior Queen, now here doing what I do best! The epitome of Sadism- congratulations to me- is looking for a new makeover, and you're the base!"

Filia's choking state panicked. Her legs thrashed in the pivot of her floating legs, and her arms clawed wildly at her attackers. This futile attempt entertained the sadist, but, perhaps from the thoughts of stained nails, instead of breaking her succulent neck, she instead plunged her through the glass, and into the water. She went through, as if the window had never existed, and now floated beneath the perfume waves in dark, rosy water. Her first action was to bang on the glass- to reenter the air- but, as she did so with both arms, Fukua, behind the opaque glass, flattened her face on the window, right where her reflection had been, before cackling, "I WIN, AGAIN!"

And at that moment, a gaping shark jaw reflected through the glass.

 _Crack!_

* * *

 _A chessboard. Two parasites. What poetry, hmm?_

 _Keep quiet! I hate this game, anyway._

 _But aren't we in your mind? Why is this in your head?_

 _I dunno!_

 _Do you have some form of patience? Well, judging by all that we have done, I would have seen you an impatient rusher. Maybe that's why you lost all your battles. You don't think-?_

 _Oh, shut up! I'll beat ya' one day-_

 _Check._

 _Oh crap! Wait... Hah! My King's safe now._

 _Oh, I didn't see that bishop there. But then, again, you didn't see my Queen here. Check._

 _Gah..._

 _Maybe this chessboard represents a hidden part of you? Maybe your patience with that girl._

 _Don't talk about her like that. She's my host._

 _You have some sort of desire, do you?_

 _That... sounded weird. Just shut up and let me think._

 _Stubborn. What desire I'm saying is... Hmm... You want to be the dominant one, hmm?_

 _Shut up._

 _You are sick of being the weapon. You want to be the independent one._

 _Shut up!_

 _You want things to be in your own hands. You don't want the host doing everything. You don't want her stopping you._

 _I said SHUT UP!_

His eyes shot open, greeted warmly by a dark sky.

Of course, he did it again. Lunged at him when- he guessed- the time wasn't right; didn't wait for the game to end. His anger, once boiling but now cooled to a silent volcano, had gotten the best of him. If Filia was here, she would have kept him in check, told him off and all that stuff- or at least try to. What was this uncontrollable beast doing?

Those words of haunt that that... imposter said: were they true. Was some inner emotion fueling his desire to do more than he had believed. The thought concerned him, to say the least. He never thought that way to her, or his previous host, so what was this selfish wish even he himself saw as extreme compared to most of his own desires. There was no time to rest, though. He needed to at least grasp the lay of the land here. That... other him would appear anytime, and there was a waning necessity to be ready.

He started to crawl on the ground in a puddle-like form, slithering with a slug's dexterity as he hid in corners and observed this new world. It was a dark maze of alleyways. The lone puddles were scattered through each path, unable to move to seek company in others. Walls of sullen bricks, sullied with drapes of moist moss and patchwork of wear and tear, compacted an odor into narrow corridors, as if strengthening the smell to a concentration almost drinkable. That did not bother the parasite, though, as he continued to comfortably slither through the dirty ground.

Unbeknownst to the black blob, a schizophrenic sense of danger subtly rooted itself within his mind. He began to perspire, eyes slowly increasing in haste and wildness as he hurried through the garden of hanging greenery. The franticness of escaping the claustrophobia began to strain within him.

It felt so familiar.

Frighteningly so, as he himself could not remember whatever this place was. There seemed no end to it, no clear goal in sight. He was lost, but why so? Was it the maze, or was it himself? It was his inner conscience, so what was all this about?

He could not remember.

Was this a memory lost in the unknown reaches of himself? Perhaps so. Was this a past life he had lead, a lost soul in a nightly society of confusion? Eh, that sounded stupid. But it did question to him where it led to, and he was eager to exit this location.

He turned around a corner.

Ah, light! A street lamp, in the distance, as if greeting him with some shining cylinder of gold. Quickly, he rushed to this exit, but, to his growing puzzlement, he never got any closer to it.

It was then that the entire place began to morph. The ground shook in his wake, and a great crack began to appear. But this crack seemed non-existent, as he found himself slithering above it like a puddle of water.

The street lamp began to bend.

The crack began to grow larger.

Then, as the great nonexistent fissure touched the walls, he plunged into dark water.

Confused he was. What dreamy illusion was he battling against? Why?

There was little time to think of an answer, though, as a great current suddenly pulled him away deeper into the water. Waves of iridescent blue streamed around him, slowly increasing in numbers. His entire vision bean to cloud with the pleasant flowing strands, as they caressed and held him with a gentleness of heavenly feathers. One limped down into his mouth, but, instead of spitting it out in disgust, he found it surprisingly pleasant, though he refrained himself from trying to ingest it.

Then, he felt himself land in a field of grass.

Or was it grass? No, it felt more like strands of hair. He reared his head upward, and found himself surrounded by light blue, almost white, strings. They flowed with a northern wind, blowing to one direction while uncovering another at the opposite end.

He didn't want to move.

The smell, the texture; it reminded him of soft down stuffed into pillows. But how? He never slept on one before when he was with his present host.

Forcing himself to begin exploring, he began to move where the wind blew, under the white sky and blue sheets. The climb was subtly, though lightly, steep, and he himself felt little in the wake of a rising hill. Reaching the peak, he found himself witnessing a great expanse of nothing. Not snow, but white blankness. A scent of hair conditioner- his favorite brand- entered his nose.

He turned down, and saw, to his awestruck shock, that he was standing atop a great statue of a woman, high above the plateau of white. He could see, from where he stood, that there were cracks on her forehead, and a great fissure on her chest.

Oh, wait, never mind that.

The one thing that came into his head was to descend the statue. Slowly, he slid down the clean forehead of the statue, his individual strands grasping on to each crack, mentioned before. As he reached the bridge of the nose, he realized that the statue's eyes were watering. Fluffy mist surrounded the eyes, and a waterfall streamed down onto the far ground, where a puddle had begun to expand.

The moment he reached down innocently onto the tip of the nose, the statue began to shake. The crying stopped. The mists dissipated, and the eyelids parted. He found himself staring into one large, colorless grey eyes.

Its hand, once clapped together, praying for whatever wishes it would dare ask Providence, departed from their position, and one swept him off her nose. As he fell, he, with panicked reflexes, molded himself into a parachute; a breeze blew him back up- conveniently- to the statue's cute nose. Though disoriented, he faced the stone giant, and began to scold it with his spiteful tongue. He did not know why, but his body had swayed to the odd irritation within him. There was no skipping of a heartbeat, but instead a simple habit of normal emotions.

And now, he must be one brave son of a gun trying to stare down a towering sentinel.

The moment he finished his barrage of complaints, he shuddered under the statue's increasingly escalating stare. An uncouth nervousness began to linger within him. What was it going to do next? Squash him?

Instead of attacking, the statue began to giggle; there was no audible noise, but it did seem to brighten in complexion, and its head shook in the obnoxious fashion of the snickering man in the corner of every bar.

Then, it began to shrink, till it became nothing but a few meagre feet taller than him, a familiar size comparable to his host. The stone's mouth began to move, and she mouthed without a word.

 _What's your name?_

He raised an eyebrow, furrowed his face and stared bewildered at the inanimate carving of minerals. There was a short debate within him scaling his further decision, but, under an odd state of appreciation with the woman, he spoke in his gruffest, though most suppressed voice.

"Samson."

She gave a nod to the parasite. Reaching a hand out, she offered an open palm to him, to his slight surprise.

 _Wanna be friends?_

Samson turned stiff. She had forgiven his scoldings rather quickly, and now she was ready to ease a request of friendship to him? Whatever this symbolized, it was just corny for his taste. A pleasant type of corniness, might I add.

"Y-yeah. Sounds good," replied the meek Samson, before he placed a tentacle on her hand. The statue smiled at his hesitant willingness before pulling him up, harmlessly whipping him on to her head as if a cloth from a turban. Undoubtedly, he latched on to her head, and, in an astounding twist from his attitude, snuggled comfortably on the statue's bed of silken hair. He felt, for once, untroubled. There was still that doppelgänger to deal with, but oh the heavenly atmosphere just numbed him to nothingness. He felt rightfully at home, on this person's head, his own strands connecting harmoniously with the follicles.

In that instance, the world began to erupt a rainbow. Around him, he could see the spreading of colors. The ground began to grow luscious with grass and assorted flowery. The statue began to shine, and, in childish grandeur, she skipped around the field of greens.

Samson laughed.

The joyous times were just too much for him to handle.

But at the end of the rainbow, Samson found himself stiff by whatever he saw. The statue gave a flinch.

A ring.

Placed beneath a standing stone of plain grains: a diamond ring.

She stood still, stunned by its everlasting shine. Taking a step, she began to reach out.

As she did so, a skeletal hand began to rise from the earth. She retracted, frightened by the sudden morbidity of the visitor. Samson extended his hair-like hands in response, and prepared for battle. But, instead of a monstrous skeletal demon, a morose-looking caricature rose, eye holes droopy and drenched in a tear-like composition.

It was then that Samson sensed a startling new mood in the woman. A passive pity, a sympathy of a pained level.

His surroundings also began to change. The earth they stood on began to break away, and everything else began to fall. Not that the ground was rising, no- the entire plane of existence dropped into the black hole of nothingness. Petals swirled through the air, clouding the sky and sprinkling down yellow pollen in snow clumps.

He turned his attention back to the skeleton and the ring. Its eyes had began to look up, pleading for her to take it. To accept it. It was then that Samson asked:

"You're gonna do it?"

There was a silence for some time, before she nodded, adamant. Taking the ring, she fitted it into her ring finger, and displayed it proudly to the skeleton. Bones became stone, and, in an instance, the decayed bits of calcium became a statue of its own, and began to gleam a radiance akin to hers. This man-statue rose, and, perhaps from a courtship standard even Samson found gross, he held her hands, and they both laid their foreheads together- noses touching; mouth grinning. The menhir began to wear itself into a pillar of gold and revelry, and a mythical gleam began to emanate from within. The ground they once stood on returned, only now it was a brick road, and, in the distance, a beautiful urban house. In a dream-like sequence, the house moved, consuming the three into its interior. Furniture began to materialize, of a grade beyond comparable. The stairs came into being from the planks on the ground, lights began to flicker themselves awake, and a television in the corner began to play a beautiful, though soft, opera. Everything decorated everywhere, but, after it all settled, a crib appeared in the distance. The two approached the little wooden rocker, and Samson peered into what was within.

A child.

A miracle.

His eyes widened, though he found himself not too excited to the point of intoxicated grinning. Instead, he gave a weak smile, and chuckled. He did not care for it all anymore. It felt too good- too good for any bit of him to even see the caution he lacked.

As he laughed, he closed his eyes. But, as they opened again, he was horrified by the sight.

His host, broken, demolished on the ground. He was off her head, and now stared into her dying eyes. Her blue hair, now white, begged for mercy. Her eyes showed the noticeable signs of eye bags developing.

She had grown old.

How much time had passed?

He gave a cry. Samson began to plead for her survival, began to repeat whatever he said for emphasis, but, under all the pain of half a missing body, the woman mouthed, weakly, her last words to her friend of so many years.

 _Run._

Then, his eyes came upon something terrifying, and he, stricken with fear, fled, unable to get a clear view of the monster that slaughtered her. The sky was dark. The ground was all muddy with solemn memories. Some hops later, the house materialized into view, and he, without care, barged in.

And came face to face with the man.

At first, he could not speak, could not tell him of the dreadful news. But he could see that the man saw everything in his eyes.

"They're coming," he said.

Wait, 'they'? Who was 'they'?

But even then, the man only could clench his teeth and tighten his fist. The house began to spout fire as he lashed out with his voiceless mouth.

 _Get out._

 _We don't need a useless ass like you._

 _I'll protect her myself._

"No, wait-"

 _Get out._

 _Don't come back._

It was then that, by the power of dreams, he found himself outside the house, faced by a closed door. Samson gulped down the shame he felt. The guilt that gnawed at his neck only grew larger as a result. A pouring rain began to buffer the comfort of the cold night air. Lightning gave the only illumination he could get, and even then, the slivers of light were but flashing hopes that what he had heard was wrong. All wrong.

He did not want to leave the haven he created.

But, swayed by an instinctual change of heart, his sadness mutated gruesomely into seething anger. All those years he wasted away, and the reward of gratitude was thrown down the drain. He turned, and began to hop away in his puddle-like blob form.

It would only be a few hops away before he turned back.

Because a gunshot echoed into his ears.

That was when he realized his mistake, for the house was beginning to be raided by hooded men in black, come from an ornate car parked next to the door. A rattle of gunshots began to ring out. The man must be dead. But something bugged him within his head. Why would he return? They were both dead, so what was the use?

Wait, the child!

"Oh nonononono!" he screamed in an abnormal horror, and sprinted down the road. Around him, his world began to fall apart. The sky began to tear, revealing a great thunderstorm of foreboding clouds. The ground began to crack and break off, flying in a swirl as a tornado gale began to blow.

Utter chaos was happening, and he knew something was going to happen. It was ending. It was all ending.

Hopping onto floating ground, he neared the vicinity of the house. The car, blown by the winds, began to topple on top of him. Fueled by the adrenaline, he smashed it aside, and, with elastic hands, began to climb up, to the uppermost window of the house.

Into the child's room.

It was a frantic race, but he made it in time. Crashing through the glass, he, with a quick recovery, found the child on her bed. Instead of a child, she was now a teenage girl, well developed, in some sense of the word. She was still, in an absurd manner of speaking, miraculously asleep. But now was not the time to observe new sights. Quickly, he climbed the bed, under the music of stomping boots, and faced the head of the child.

Another host. Another life.

His life was really that complicated, huh?

He knew full well who this was, and he was ready for it.

"Don't worry," he began to monologue, "I'll protect you better than I did your mom. If you die, then I'm coming with you!"

The door blasted itself off its sockets, and armed men entered.

"LET'S GO, FILIA!"

He latched himself on her head, and, instances before the enemy fired his gun, he pushed her off the bed, and, extending his appendages, he grew legs to move, and attacked. His moves were swift, devastating, and relentless. One by one, they fell, perhaps incapacitated. Maybe dead. Who cares. This was his repentance. This was his plea for forgiveness.

Filia snored.

As he swiped his last foe, ready to end the battle, his attack was deflected. It shocked him momentarily, but, under the anger of his mistakes, he attacked with more furor, but, even then, he could not get a solid hit on his trespassing foe.

"You piece of-!" he swiped at his face.

And the mask fell off.

"Hello, Samson."

And in that instance, a dark green force jumped out of the man, and his world turned black.

He found himself on his knees.

"Wha-? Huh?" He turned from side to side, disoriented by the sudden transportation.

Then, he saw it. His doppelgänger. The enemy he nearly ironically forgot.

"Shamone."

"You remember," Shamone said, "But that would be silly if you didn't."

"What are you-"

"Something's off."

Samson froze in place by those words.

"How did you forget?"

Samson flinched.

"I-I don't-"

"You do. Or did. Let me tell you what happened, from what I see." Pacing around the grounded parasite, the intruder began to speak, "After you fought off the Medici-"

 _Medici? They did this?_

"You went back to bed, just so she could be a little comfortable. But you did something you should not have done: you burrowed deeper into her head. All because you wanted to stay with her- to die with her... Something went wrong. You went too deep. I'm not a doctor, but your interference made her into this. A lost sheep, locked behind a barn. You had the same treatment, too, for some reason."

"Wait..." Samson spoke up, "Then... who was he?"

"Hmm? Who?"

"Him. The dad. I can't remember him..."

"What's so interesting about him?"

"Why'd the Medici take him?!" Samson burst out, teeth exposed, but, as he continued, he calmed and retracted away from the anger, "Filia... She's Medici. I know that. Why did they kill one of them?"

"Oh boy, this is going to get non-canon."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then answer me: who was he?"

"The second son of Lorenzo Medici: head of the Mafia."

He froze in place, utter disbelief clogging every vessel within him.

"A nobody. From what I remember, no one wanted him. Lorenzo's first son was going to succeed him, anyway, and this man was just a throwaway. Weak, having no authority. One thing is for certain: he loved your previous host. They bored a daughter, and he found himself in favor of his father for the first time: the only son to be married to one of incomparable beauty, and the only son with a heir."

Pacing closer to Samson, the green faker reared his head lower, to his level, and hissed, "But, like any other part of your life: something went wrong."

Rising back up, Shamone stared down with a pressing contemplation, and continued, "The first son wanted your family dead. Seeing how Lorenzo was getting old and senile, and that the second son had slowly slipped out of favor, anything went. But they knew you were the biggest threat; they knew you would protect the family with your life, so they sent someone they never thought they would depend on, a vampire under their oversight..."

"Eliza..."

Shamone gave a deep chuckle, "Least you remember. They did send her, and it worked. She died, and you ran like a baby- left her to die. The husband never did forgive you- maybe even after death- and because of this, he was blind. Blind of your heed. The story... Well, it unfolds there."

"So I... I made Filia like this?"

"From what I know, yes."

...

A deafening silence started to blare.

"At least I'm..." Samson hesitated.

"I'm still with her."

"Silly that you would continue your defiance," Shamone grumbled, "But no matter. Because I win. All that's left is your soul. Then we'll wrap it up."

 _Crack!_


	12. Farewell (Abandoning)

_And the lone Writer wanders in once again._

Hello, guys… I… I haven't been myself lately. No, I didn't break up with a girl, none of my relatives died, I didn't suddenly get orphaned by some inexplicable event, and I did not die.

I just don't have the motivation anymore…

I… I'm abandoning this story.

(Sad face)

It's funny, really. I had the entire thing planned. I had the entire story built up, and it was going to be an epic of unfathomable levels, something that would even shock myself if I read it.

So what happened?

It's the start of a new year, and, unlike most, I wanted to develop. I wanted to start my career as a writer, but, if I were to do that, I had to start writing my first story.

And that's what I did.

I played around with ideas for the first few months, and settled on one two months ago. I've been slowly developing it ever since, and, pray tell, my expectations shot through the roof: I wanted it to be a long series of books, up to 10 books, if necessary.

This is where the problem lies. With my creative brain swimming with new ideas, it became a distraction writing the fanfiction. I could not concentrate on it, and, in the end, I broke down and realized I could not write fanfiction anymore. I just didn't have the reason or motivation to do so.

It's a point in life for a young fanfiction writer to realize that the world is closing in on them, and that such a non-profit activity may not last.

I have heard of older people writing their own fanfictions in their free time. My own English teacher once had an uncle (if I remember it correctly) who wrote literal fan-made Star Trek manuscripts. It was a nice revelation to me that I could technically continue this passion in the future.

But this is where my job lies. As a writer, you are supposed to make ideas. Cliché or original, it must contribute to your story. And any other idea may destroy your motivation to continue a story you are already writing. That was where my problem lies. If I continued writing, thinking about ideas for fanfiction, my idea for a story will be lost in my growing motivation to focus on another project that may not even net me any money, unless I wrote said fanfiction as a way to advertise myself.

I do want to be a successful writer in the future. I would love to earn awards, get adaptions of my work, rise to the top in the writing industry.

And I couldn't let fanfiction get in my way.

It's painful, really. I would love to come back to write this someday, if some spark of motivation immolates my entire being in the future. I would love to finish that Senran Kagura X TWGOK fanfiction that I wrote, whose first arc I finished years ago. It was a great journey writing it, but the motivation had wavered, and finally withered. I am scared that the story I'm writing now may also suffer the same fate.

So… Sorry, guys.

In any case, I will try and see if I can redeem myself with a literal summary of the entire story that I had not written.

These are just ideas, and, if I ever come back to finish this all up, it may change.

* * *

 **Now, we finished the story off at when Filia is in her dream-like state with Fukua. There was going to be an epic battle in some hair-walled labyrinth, where a large spire holding both Filia's and Samson's souls would be the large arena. Both the original and clone were to literally battle in who was to get the souls, and of course Filia wins in a stroke of luck. She beats Fukua all the way to the outermost part of her consciousness, and locks her away in the deepest parts of her mind.**

 **This is where the breaking of the glass chamber occurs. Filia is let out, the humongous tsunami of Theonite awakens Peacock from her state, and… I don't really remember how Valentine wakes up. In any case, the Theonite supercharges the Parasites (it wasn't really told how Theonite affected Parasites, so I was placing my interpretation here), and the group rush back up to help save Beowulf's group.**

 **The group gets out, only to find, in literally a matter of hours, the entire city is empty, all its inhabitants abducted and put in Eliza's concentration camps propped up by the EVIL Black Dahlia bots. The group then run for it, and it leaves us in a cliffhanger.**

 **In Lab 0, it is revealed that Black Dahlia had persuaded Painwheel to her side, and they try a daring escape, where it is also revealed that the Dahlia bots are no match for her because 'the real one wasn't even serious during data collection'. Robo-Fortune joins the gang, her processors having envy on Brain Drain's new love for the Dahlia bots.**

 **Eliza's action during this is very vague in my head. I think I never really considered what she was doing…**

 **I was going to do a Cerebella chapter here. With her being dead, it was going to be some recap chapter about Vice Versa looking for her dead body. I didn't really know how it would play out after that. Vice Versa WAS going to coincidentally see a few key scenes in the story, such as a few scenes with Valentine on the rooftops in the distance, to seeing Beowulf and the gang escaping through the streets. I was originally planning to make it so that Beowulf spotted the little hat hopping around the city looking for Cerebella, but eh. Vice Versa was to find her body somewhere near those humongous sewer outlets, though her body's a bit more gruesome than some may say…**

 **This is where it gets blurry. I had not really found an idea in how Vice Versa, with a rotting body of a circus performer in tow, was going to be inducted into the gang. Writing this, however, has given me a new idea. Perhaps the hat was going to bump ways with Dahlia's group, and, with the ex-bodyguard recognizing Cerebella's affiliations with the mafia, Dahlia bluntly calls for the group to find a coffin.**

 **In another chapter, Double sudden arises from the Church! YAY~!**

 **The next chapter was how the two groups were going to meet. Sure, if this story was longer, I would have had the two groups brood about the situation for a few chapters before the buildup to their eventual meeting, but whatever. They meet, and the group mistake the lone Black Dahlia (I don't remember why they're alone) as a Dahlia bot, and engage in jolly cooperation in trying to take her down. She's super swift, however, and fends off the attack before she negotiates with the group.**

 **There was going to be a scene where Painwheel reunites with Filia, and all goes well. It was also a time when the group was readying themselves in truly striking the Medici Tower.**

 **This was where Sh*t got real.**

 **My original prototype idea was to get the other Kingdoms involved, but that would've overcomplicated the story, so eh.**

 **The citizens are all forced laborers building Eliza's new kingdom of Egyptian-esque architecture, by the way.**

 **The plan for the group was to fight their way up to the top of the building where Eliza is. Seeing how they suspect Princess Parasoul, Umbrella and the other Black Egrets to be below the building, they scheme that if they can get their help, the operation may be a success. Big Band, Painwheel and Valentine were to go off to see if they can kill Brain Drain, and the others try and ascend the tower.**

 **Also, Vice Versa was supposed to be on the head of a coffin, so… yeah.**

 **In any case, the group storm the building at the dead of night, and succeed in entering. Dahlia and Peacock, though rather antagonistic, at first, board a lift by accident (not the big lift in the game's stage), and miraculously never get stuck or cut down until the higher floor, where they climb out to get to a floor. Dahlia begs to differ, however, because she knows something is below, in one of the lower basements. She cuts the elevator wires, and plummets down, leaving Peacock alone on the unspecified higher floor.**

 **The Beowulf and gang fight their way up the stairs, seeing how they heard the lift plummet. Annie leaves to find the so-called 'Dungeon' the Medicis once had, and Beowulf, Robo-Fortune and Vice Versa find the headless body of Ms. Fortune. Recognizing the body, Beowulf opts to take it with him and ascend to find her head.**

 **In other news, Eliza is brooding evilly, waiting for the group to come to her. In the corner, a glowing box begins to shake.**

 **Big Band and the gang (Valentine is hiding, by the way) arrive at Lab Zero, where it is oddly empty. Brain Drain is taken by surprise at first, but quickly regains his composure, and fights the group by manipulating Painwheel and her worried, suspiciously weary state.**

 **Dahlia reaches the bottom of the shaft, and finds herself in a maintenance hall, empty. She strolls by, and finds a secret door she remembers was used by the Medicis. She enters, and finds what she has been looking for; an ornate coffin, said to hold a detector of the Skull Heart. Weary of the Skull Heart's powers, and afraid that the mission may fail, she instead decides to destroy this artifact so Eliza may never try her hands on the Heart in the future. Insert cliffhanger here.**

 **Annie finds the many surviving Black Egrets in a new underground complex crudely made to keep them in. She tries to reason with them to rise and try and fight back, but the disheartened group, including Adam (who hints of his whip wounds), deny. She storms to the Princess's chambers, and frees the two royalties. Parasoul immediately, even though she is weakened, calls for action. Her nobility and want for justice pushes her out, and she joins Annie; sadly, the others are still too frightened of the prospects. Only when Parasoul leaves do they begin realizing their cowardice, and, with a small push from Umbrella, they rise and begin marching out with crude forks or table legs as weapons.**

 **Beowulf and the gang do ascend up, but find that the hordes of Dahlia bots are thinning. They reach the floor a few floors below where Eliza is, and find Lorenzo's- now Eliza's- bedroom, where Ms. Fortune's head is fussing about someone touching her. They put her back, and, though somewhat weak from all that unactivity, rushes to battle the new wave of Dahlia Bots.**

 **Big Band fares well with Painwheel, but is concerned by her oddly confused state. Brain Drain is also suspicious. Big Band beats her, and she reveals, before Big Band is struck by Brain Drain's hologram of his own attack, that she senses the Skull Heart.**

 **Dahlia is about to shoot her shotgun, before the coffin begins to shake, and Squigly and Leviathan burst out. I didn't really think this part through… I'm thinking of the 'we'll talk a bit to establish character', or the 'I fight you because I remember you' route.**

 **Peacock, on the other hand, actually reaches Eliza's room, having beaten both Albus and Horace. She appears from the large lift, and, enraged by Eliza's part in the death of Lab 8, fights her. Sadly, this was also a cliffhanger.**

 **Brain Drain beats Big Band, but, before he can deal the finishing blow, is apprehended by Valentine, where he is brutally killed by the vengeful nurse.**

 **Beowulf and gang find the large lift, and ascend to find the top wrecked, with Peacock in her last breaths. Yeah, she dies, abruptly so.**

 **It doesn't go well for some time until Dahlia and Squigly appear, having ascended the building by literally super-charging Leviathan with Theonite. His arm swing destroys the columns of the floor, and the spire roof falls, leaving it without a roof. They again try to fight, but again don't go so well until Annie appears, having found an airship with the Egrets, who fire upon Eliza. She of course destroys the airship, sending some of the Egrets to their deaths D:**

 **More jolly battle... And it seems like all is lost, what'd you know, Big Band arrives. With a combo regarding a blood coagulant, Big Band's bell, and Painwheel's circular helicopter saw, they seemingly kill her.**

 **Of course not.**

 **And so, in her rage over how weakened she has become, she kills off the cast one by one- yeah, it gets that dark… I guess, you have to see how I write it first- leaving only Filia alive. But, before she is killed off, she, being told by Samson of the Skull Heart in the corner, makes a mad dash for the item, and successfully grabs it, falling off the building in the process.**

 **The Skull Heart sides with Filia, seeing how it wants Eliza dead. It promises her that she will not immediately turn into a Skullgirl, and will have 'fleeting moments before her passing'. She wishes that all her comrades, those she made, those who had helped her in this battle, would return. And it happens. The Skull Heart teleports her back in time to before she made the dash to the heart, and, before Eliza is able to deal the blow, the entire cast comes back to life, and blocks the hit together. With all their hands tied in blocking her move, it is revealed that even Cerebella has been revived (for reasons), and proceeds to punch Eliza away. Then they press on with their barrage of attacks, while being cheered on by the now-revived Black Egrets below.**

 **Eliza is on her last knees. She mocks the gang, realizes that Filia had used the Heart, and begins to gather spilt blood.**

 **But then a shadow looms.**

 **It's Double!**

 **The Preaching's all over now.**

 **The group stare stunned as the monster engulfs her, and, in my head, if it were to be animated, it would have ended in a cool eagle-dive off the building, hops through the street, before the plunge to Gehenna ending the sequence of 'Oh, please don't take me's from Eliza.**

 **Then, it's all over. The group cheer, and Eliza is no more.**

 **This is where my 'Endings' come into play. I was going to give every character, or small group of characters, their own endings.**

 **None of them are in chronological order. I did this just to fool around with your heads :P.**

 **Beowulf's ending was the simplest, and so is the first. It starts with him in his apartment, a week after the incident. He's quickly dressing for work, and quickly leaves the house on a scooter. As he drives around, he looks at the newly rebuilt Canopy Kingdom, with all its citizens returning, and some new houses on the way. He arrives at his new studio, where he meets Annie and they return for a new season of Annie: Girl of the Stars'.**

 **Cerebella's ending was going to play out like this: she's back at the Circus, sorting out old stuff. Cerebella reminisce about her old friends and Vitale, and begin to cry for her losses, with Vice Versa trying to comfort her. The Black Egrets arrive outside the circus with a shipment of all her friend's old gear. She marvels at it, and is told by Roxie to prep for a new circus, one that represents the Kingdom as a whole. But, seeing how there is no one else other than her, her first request is for Panzerfaust to be the strongman, in which he 'politely' declines.**

 **Filia's ending pairs with Painwheel and Peacock's. It's nearly identical to the oh-so-somewhat happy ending in Filia's game end, though now they find out Peacock has enrolled for the school, in a special class just for her. It ends with the same scene that end's Filia's ending cutscene, though now there's Peacock smoking in the distance, and the silhouette of an Egret (maybe Adam) approaching the two friends.**

 **Big Band's ending ties very closely to Squigly's later ending. He visits the graves of everyone in Lab 8, and, as he plays a song, promises that the future labs will do no harm, and will be just. Yeah, it's as simple as that.**

 **Squigly's ending is, as I said before, closely tied to Big Band's, because they are literally in the same area. Squigly is visiting her parent's makeshift graves, and apologizes for not visiting so long before. Leviatha comforts her, and explains that, because the Skullgirl's essense is in Filia, she will still 'live'. Squigly listens to Band's music, and begins to whisper a small, indistinguishable opera, before Big Band tells her that they should go. She complies.**

 **Black Dahlia and Ms. Fortune's ending tie together. Robo-Fortune sadly was never really in my head when I was writing the endings, so she'll make a cameo appearance here. Fortune confronts Dahlia, who is planning to leave the Kingdom and find her place elsewhere, where she speaks to her about her gang. Dahlia forlornly apologizes fo the death of her 'family', but she humbly declines, saying that she can never truly forgive her. Instead, she challenges her for a friendly duel, and the two spar until Adam appears from a jeep, and ends the ending by telling Dahlia that she has been hired by Parasoul to be her personal bodyguard, and jokingly implies that he should have been the guard, instead of him being babysitter to Umbrella.**

 **Valentine's ending starts in a jail cell, with Valentine asking herself of her place in this world. With her bosses dead, she is now alone, and waiting for her days in prison. An Egret arrives to open the gate for her, saying she has been bailed and the person who did so wishes to meet her outside. She exits to find Big Band and Peacock waiting, and they share a conversation about the revival of the Labs. She scoffs at the idea, but Big Band reassures her that it will be different. Surprised by the fervor, she chuckles, and the ending… well, ends.**

 **Parasoul's ending was to see her issuing orders to rebuild the entire city. She has become Queen, and Black Dahlia now follows her around, though her attire has been subtly swapped to have the Kingdom insignia on her small cape thing. She enters a special laboratory where scientists, and coincidentally the entire gang are watching Filia's slow transformation into the Skullgirl. The group gulp and ready their armaments as the process slowly finishes. But then the view is transported to Filia's mind, where it is revealed that Fukua is the one being taken over by the Heart, and she becomes the Skullgirl, revealing herself to be, in a technical sense, the final boss. Filia manages to put Fukua deep within her consciousness, and awakes to tell the group. The gang, though wary that Fukua may get out one day, celebrate the coincidence and applaud (though a few are skeptical of this 'person' inside her)**

 **And it ends…**

* * *

Yeah, it ends.

Sure, there are a few problems with the story. I didn't have time to develop Ms. Fortune, Parasoul, Cerebella and Squigly, but it's inevitable seeing how my story was going to go.

Eliza and Double should have gotten an ending, but I hated the idea of a sequel, so I left it at that, where the illusion that everything is over is casted.

Nonetheless, now that I'm writing this, I'm marveling at my old creativity. It was an ambitious fanfiction, one that needed no OC, one that needed no romance, one that tried to use its source material smartly, tried to give its own spin to it. I still love this fanfiction, but I must lay it to rest.

For those who were reading this since day one, thank you fo your time. It has been a great journey into the World of Skullgirls, and I may never forget it. My to-be-Masterpiece, dead upon arrival.

And let us applaud for the death of one I envisioned to be so mighty in the fandom of Skullgirls, let's-

Okay, how narcissistic can I be?

Sorry.

In any case, thank you, and goodbye, guys. Hope I'll see you again.


End file.
